


Regrets Collect Like Old Friends

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Rewritten in Time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Drama, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 72,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traveling into the past, Draco Malfoy finds himself in his eleven-year-old body with all his memories from the past seventeen years. Using this knowledge, he sets out change time. His first mission: befriend Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hit Restart

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted over on fanfiction.net. However, the point of this note is: this story contains a few OCs. You have been warned. 
> 
> This story also has a companion series of connected one-shots— it can be read either before this, after this, or not at all. It’s called Over the Rainbow, and it follows the OC present when Draco goes back in time, as she gets sucked back in time to the Marauders period.
> 
> Also, there are story notes for this story on my fanfiction profile page. Feel free to read it you'd like. Or not. 
> 
> The link: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/4160347/Scotland-Evander

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. If you really know it, it’s out of _Deathly Hallows_ , written by JKR.**

* * *

History was littered with disasters. People were supposed to learn from mistakes, yet to Draco his current predicament felt like he was repeating, not being wiser and learning from the past. 

It was now clear to Draco, that instead of wanting to be his father, he ought to have learned from his father’s bad choices and not followed in his footsteps.

Draco should have stuck to his gut feelings about becoming a Death Eater, that sick inclination that the Dark Lord was in fact a psychopath. Draco allowed fright to drive him.  

Looking back, his behavior embarrassed him to such a degree he didn’t even want to go on living. He was a Slytherin, so he was supposed to be cunning, sly and ambitious. Draco was to be great, successful and the envy of the entire country. 

He was no better than a House Elf and he was scared out of his mind. The past year had been the worst year of his life. The past two summers were miserable, lived in fear of being cursed, being in pain and unable to stop it. Time slowed down, sped up and seeped around him and people kept dying. 

The Dark Mark on his arm was a memory that he was someone’s slave. That was what he was, forever marked, a slave. The Dark Lord wasn’t merciful, he was not kind and he was not even human as far as Draco could tell. 

Draco was tired of being scared. He was tried of seeing the end. That was all he saw: the end. If the Dark Lord won the stupid battle, his family would be run into the ground by the man’s demands and whims. They had already lost favor because of the failures of his father to get the prophecy, Draco’s inability to kill Dumbledore, and allowing the Golden Trio to escape at Easter. And whatever the trio had stolen from Bellatrix’s family vault had been the last straw. 

Draco wiped the blood from his mouth as he scrambled through a hidden doorway. He’d barely escaped having a few Death Eaters kill him. Finally, someone understood he was on their side and took out the Death Eater. 

Only to later punch him in the jaw. That person sounded ominously like Ron Weasley, though there was no red hair in sight. 

If the other side won, his family would be punished, thrown away to Azkaban for their crimes. There was no way to deny they were Death Eaters. 

It was the end of the Malfoys, something that did not sit well with Draco, along with all his other regrets. It was clear to him now, clear as glass what he should have done, what should be done. He’d known he ought to do it since he’d found the tiny box when he was fixing the cabinet last year, but he’d been too scared. 

The battle raged in the Entrance Hall as more Death Eaters rolled on into the castle. If anything, Draco really didn’t want the Dark Lord to win. 

Time wasn’t something you messed with. It was a black and white law in the magical world. But, Draco Malfoy was going to mess with time. He tore through the halls, dodging battles and duels left and right. He’d lost his mother’s wand in the fire Crabbe had started in the Room of Requirement. Potter had Draco’s actual wand. Oddly, he didn’t care. The end was all he could see. In a few hours from now, this reality wouldn’t exist. He’d make a new one.

All he had to do was swallow the vials, read the paper with the incantation on it and choose a point in time to go back to. The only reason he hadn’t done this as of yet, was for one foolish moment he saw a way to redeem himself and his family from their falling from grace: get whatever Potter was after before Potter got it. It was a crown of some sort.

He’d failed. He’d lost Crabbe. While he didn’t really enjoy Crabbe’s company all that much, he felt almost as if he’d lost some limb he hadn’t been aware he had. 

“You have fought valiantly.” The cold voice ripped through the school, reverberating through the walls and floors. Draco shivered. “Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery.”

Lies. The Dark Lord valued nothing except himself and his means to his own end. Draco pressed himself to the wall. 

“Yet, you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist, you will all die. One by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.”

Lies. Lies. Lies.

Draco shut his eyes as the past year rushed into his mind’s eye. Students were beaten, Muggleborns killed. For no reason at all other than they were different.

Draco understood that now, just hadn’t been brave enough to admit it. Brave enough to down the vials he’d brewed and read the little paper from the box he’d found when he’d been trying to fix the cabinet. The Vanishing Cabinet, how he wished he’d never fixed it. As much as he thought Dumbledore was an idiot and slightly mad in a bad way, the old man could duel and had frightened the Dark Lord. 

If Dumbledore was alive, none of this would be happening. 

“I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.”

The Dark Lord when on to threatened Harry Potter directly, blaming him for the deaths and gave him an hour to meet him in the forest.

Harry would give himself up. 

Draco’s eyes popped open. He plunged his hand into the pocket to the left and yanked out one of the vials. He always kept them on his person since he’d brewed them during the summer. He popped the top and downed the first one. It froze his insides. An unnatural silence fell. He had ten minutes before he could drink the next vile. Staggering, Draco retraced his steps. He pushed the tapestry aside and entered the Entrance Hall. As he did, he saw Potter, Granger and Weasley enter, looking around. They looked trouble, none more so than Potter.

He was going to do it. He was going to give himself up.

The Dark Lord was going to win, because he wasn’t going to keep his promise to let anyone live. Anyone against him would be struck down. 

Anyone who stood with him would be struck down. 

Draco lurked around, watching the three enter the Great Hall. He crept down the stairs, his worry getting the best of him. He wanted to know who was dead. 

Potter came to a halt, staggering suddenly backwards. He turned sharply and ran, heading right for Draco. Throwing himself out of Potter’s way, Draco watched Potter run passed clutching something tightly in his hand.

Potter was going to give himself up.

Draco took his place in the doorway, looking at the bodies of the dead lined up. He spotted someone who didn’t belong within the walls of Hogwarts. Draco had been sort of friends with the girl once— a girl sitting at the feet of two of the dead.

It seemed like in another life he’d grudgingly spent time with the American witch. He’d refused to admit to anyone (even himself) he’d enjoyed when she’d force him to play instead of pretend he was a tiny adult. 

She was sitting at the foot of two bodies, a rather blank look on her face. Draco had never seen her look so…dead before. He did not need to look to know who those bodies belonged to: that strange Auror with the pink hair and Remus Lupin— stepmother and birth father of Atlanta Black, his former friend. 

Quickly, Draco turned and followed in Potter’s footsteps. As soon as he reached the top of the staircase, Draco downed the second vial. He had thirty minutes before he had to take the last one. The hour limit would be up by the time it was time to end this. 

“Draco?” asked an out of place American voice. 

He glanced down at his former friend. The one he’d abandoned, left behind and alienated. All for the Dark Lord, for his father. 

He turned away and ran, knowing she was going to follow. He needed to get somewhere she wouldn’t be able to find him. Since she was unfamiliar with Hogwarts, it should have been easy. Of course, like most things, he was wrong. Atlanta easily followed him and caught up with him. She tackled him and he landed with a thud, Atlanta on his back.

“Please! You can change sides! He’s going to kill you!” Atlanta pleaded. “Draco, I know you’re not a killer.”

Dumbledore had said the same thing to him. 

Dumbledore was gone. 

He looked up at Atlanta, who had lost her father, mother, birth parents, and her new stepmother to the Dark Lord. Voldemort had killed her mother, birth parents and stepmother. He’d brainwashed the man she’d called Dad just as he’d brainwashed thousands of others. Altair Black was a powerful ally in America— the Dark Lord had been pleased when he’d “won” the man over. 

Draco had to get away, he needed to be alone when he did what he was going to do. A part of him didn’t want anyone knowing he was about to go off and save people. Who knew Draco Malfoy would save people? That was Potter’s area. Draco usually only wanted to save his own hide.

Pushing himself up, he knocked Atlanta off his back. Without looking backwards, he leaped to his feet and started to press on. Atlanta caught up to him easily and grabbed his forearm, turning Draco to face her. Even though the Mark currently didn’t hurt, he still tried to jerk away with a hiss, but part of having a bit of werewolf in her was having super strength for someone so thin and fragile looking. Her long fingers closed around his arm and jerked him forward, towards her. 

“You don’t believe,” Atlanta said softly.  

“I don’t,” Draco breathed, speaking the truth out loud for the first time

He didn’t dare look up into her eyes. 

“So, come with me,” Atlanta said softly, still not letting go of his arm. 

Draco slid his eyes towards her, taking in her feet. She was wearing sandals and her feet were covered in bits of blood and rubble of the castle. Her legs, bare as she was wearing shorts for some unknown reason, were covered in dirt, scrapes and more blood. His eyes continued to trail upwards, noting her grey appearance due to the dust she was painted with. She had rubble trapped in her raven hair, which was wild and curling aggressively.

When Draco finally met her brilliant, strange amber eyes he found they glittered in the dim candle light with pride Draco had finally accepted he wasn’t his father’s little clone. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” Draco heard himself ask. 

“I bet your mother is worried sick,” Atlanta admonished, ignoring his question. She took in his singed robes, the streaks of dust and grime. She frowned a bit. “Do you have a wand?”

Hers was clutched in her hand.

“I lost it.”

This alarmed her. Draco could feel time slipping, dragging all around him. It was an odd sensation. Things got bright, then dimer. Wider and shorter. Atlanta went in and out of focus, speaking in a super slow Southern accent, then a high pitched, fast one. 

The potion was doing something to him. 

“Draco?” Atlanta asked, seemingly noticing he wasn’t exactly himself. 

Something crashed somewhere in the castle, making Atlanta turn around. Draco took advantage of her distraction to rip his arm out of her hold. 

It was time to go. 

“Goodbye,” he whispered in Atlanta’s ear before he ran down the corridor. 

He could hear her turn and begin to follow him, while the person looking for Atlanta did what he expected: hold Atlanta back. 

“MALFOY!” Atlanta screamed. 

Draco sharply turned the corner. He ran till his legs gave out. Falling to the ground, he reached into is pocket and seized the last vile. He yanked out the paper, pressing himself to the wall in the empty hallway. No footsteps followed him, but he could hear Atlanta fighting with the twins. It sounded very far away. Taking deep breaths, he emptied his mind. The hour had to be up. He opened his eyes and it was almost as if there was an alarm in the last potion to tell him when it was time to take the next dose. The whole world was upside down, yet he was still sitting on the floor. 

Popping the cork out, he drank the last one. He felt nothing, but the world righted itself. Making sure he was indeed alone, he read the incantation out loud, thinking of his eleventh birthday. Eleven was still young enough he could change who he was, change how things turned out. And he wasn’t too young to seem like he was acting too old for his age. 

“MALFOY!”

Draco snapped his eyes open, but didn’t see anyone.

He felt a pull in his head and searing pain. His knees buckled, just as he heard the Dark Lord Voldemort announce to the whole school, “Harry Potter is dead.”

And the world went dark with one last scream of “MALFOY!”

* * *

The only thing about time travel Draco knew was that one: what he’d done was illegal. Two: you were not allowed to change time, hence what he was planning wasn’t such a smashing idea.  

The pain in his head was worst than when the Dark Lord put him under the Cruatius curse. He pressed his hands to his head and felt himself sort of drift away. The pain continued, but then he felt nothing at all. He was floating, drifting through nothingness. A maelstrom of visions, images, and thoughts soared into his head, too fast for him to process. It was his life flashing past his life in reverse. 

His life didn’t amount to much, tragically. 

Then it all ended and it was dark. And he couldn’t breathe. There was something heavy on his chest, restricting his breathing. And it kept squirming. 

“Miss Siri, get off of Master Draco!” a thick Southern accent chided somewhere far away. 

Who the hell was Siri? 

“Draaaaaaaco! Get up!” sung another voice, with a slight accent. It wasn’t as thick as the first. 

They were both American accents. Not English. 

Draco’s eyes flew open. 

Atlanta Black was on top of him. She smiled largely when she noticed his eyes open up. Draco found now he couldn’t breathe because she looked so young. He studied her face, taking in her amber eyes, so unlike the usual Black eyes. Her nose was also somewhat strange, as it was an odd combination of Remus Lupin’s nose and the aristocratic Black nose. 

How had he missed that before? It was so clear she was related to Lupin even this young. 

Why did she look so young? Where was he? 

“Miss Siri,” chided the first voice. 

Who was Siri? 

Atlanta suddenly left and the pressure on Draco’s chest let up. Gasping and gulping down air, Draco rolled out of bed (how’d he get in bed?) and fell to the floor with a thud. He looked around, wondering where this Siri person was located and how he had gotten into his bedroom.  

“Draco,” Atlanta drawled slowly. “What’s wrong?”

She sounded funny too. Her voice was too high pitched. 

Draco pushed himself up into a kneeling position. There was only a House Elf and Atlanta in the room. 

“Excuse me?”

Whoa. His voice was a little high. He quelled the urge to scream. 

“ _Dreki_ , what’s wrong?”

Say what? 

Atlanta knelt down next to him, placing a small hand on his back. Emotions flooded through him, mostly confusion as he had no clue what she’d called him. He knew Atlanta had a flare for languages, but she didn’t usually call him anything other than Draco.  

“Master Draco, you sure yous all right?” 

His eyes went wide as the House Elf stuck its face in Draco’s line of vision, looking rather worried. 

“Sookie!”

“Ah, good, at least Master remembering who Sookie is,” the house elf said, raising one eyebrow.

Sookie did not like him. Mostly because he was a rude git who treated her like vermin. She was a servant. 

Wait, why was Sookie calling Atlanta Siri? She’d always called her Lanty. 

“Sookie!” Atlanta shirked.

“Miss Siri, I was telling you we shouldn’t be here before nine.”

“It’s three in the morning!” Draco shouted, managing to get to his own feet as he heard a crack.

“Well, I wanted to wake you up,” Atlanta admitted, looking somewhat bashful. She took a few steps away from him. She was still in her night things, her hair rolled in rags to help her waves actually form curls. 

Slowly, Draco lifted his left arm up, pushing back the sleeve. There was no Mark, and yet he clearly remembered there being one. Draco also seemed to be a lot shorter than usual. 

The potion must have worked. He still remembered everything from the past seventeen years. Frowning, Draco realized he also seemed to remember quite a bit of things he was sure never happened before. 

Frowning, Draco stared at Atlanta.

“You came to wish me a happy birthday?”

“Yes, you’re eleven today!” Atlanta exclaimed, throwing her arms out. “You get to go to Hogwarts this year!”

This had not happened. By this point in his life, he’d been pushing his childhood playmate away, preparing for going to Hogwarts— just as his father wanted him to do. His father disliked Atlanta, thinking she wasn’t a proper pureblood, a proper witch or proper Black— due to her being American. In seven years, when he had first heard that her actual father was Remus Lupin, his father was further disgusted the girl had socialized with the family. 

On his eleventh birthday, he’d been woken up by Dobby at the normal hour. Not at three in the morning by Atlanta. 

Draco felt mild panic. Had he traveled back in time or somewhere else all together? 

“Miss Siri, we must be getting back,” Sookie drawled, eyeing Dobby, the Malfoy’s house elf wearily. 

When had Dobby arrived? Dobby was alive! And their House Elf still. 

Draco had no clue why this fact elated him so much. Maybe a side effect of time travel?

“Little Master?” Dobby asked, looking somewhat scared. His large eyes darted all over the room. 

“Well, _Dreki_. Happy birthday!” Atlanta shouted, setting a wrapped package on his bed. “I’ll leave this here with you. I must go to bed.”

She skipped over to Sookie, smiled and patted Dobby on the head. Sookie grabbed Atlanta’s hand and they were gone with another crack. 

“It worked,” Draco muttered, staring at his small hands. 

Draco took a moment to collect himself while Dobby twisted his hands together. Draco jumped to his feet, running to look out the window. The manor’s grounds were cloaked in darkness, but looked the same. Quickly, Draco began to go through anything on his desk. Being ten, he didn’t keep documents or anything with vital information. Frowning, turned to Dobby.

“Get me the most important _Daily Prophets_ from the past ten years.”

With a crack, Dobby was gone. Draco paced back and forth for twenty minute till Dobby reappeared, holding a stack of old papers. Draco went through them and breathed a sigh of relief. All the important things had happened. Nothing had changed, other than a few of his more personal memories (one being Atlanta called him some sort of gibberish name each time she saw him), but the world was the same. Joy filled Draco and he grabbed the elf and began to shake him. 

“Dobby it worked!”

“Dobby is pleased!” the elf squeaked, not looking pleased in the least. 

Draco let him go and sat down on his bed. 

It worked. Voldemort was a shadow of his former self, Harry Potter was still living with those Muggles and he’d yet to start at Hogwarts. Hell, Harry Potter was alive. Sirius Black was in Azkaban, but he was breathing at least. Bellatrix was also still in jail, along with all those other crazy Death Eaters. 

Oh! Remus Lupin was still alive. Hell, if Draco’s new, somewhat fuzzy memories were anything to go by, Lupin had a better life in this timeline. Circe Hilderbatch, the woman who was currently raising Atlanta as her own, was also still alive. Dumbledore was even still alive and kicking. 

“Brilliant,” Draco breathed. 


	2. Decoding the Past

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

It took Draco about a week to sort through his new memories. It was easy to find them in his well organized mind, as they all seemed to be housed in the same spot in his head. And they all had to do with Atlanta. 

Mystified, Draco allowed himself to dwell on his new memories and wonder why his life with Atlanta had been altered due to his time travel. While she had struck him as the same girl he’d known during her birthday wake up call, after going through the memories, he knew she was not the same girl. If anything, she was more— off color, for lack of better wording for her unique outlook on the world. While she still failed to hold a candle to say Luna Lovegood, Atlanta still was somewhat strange. 

And was often called Siri for some reason. 

Atlanta’s gibberish wasn’t actually gibbers, Draco discovered. She called him various versions of “little dragon” depending on what language she was currently learning. This summer she was learning Icelandic.

His first new memory of Atlanta was when he met her at a cafe in Paris when he was around four. She walked right up to him and began talking to him without introducing herself. 

“You have nice hair,” she’d drawled out in her slow accent, which had a hint of British to it. “It’s almost white, but you’re _petit garçon blond._ ”

“I’m not little,” Draco had snapped.

She’d frowned. “You’re smaller than Mr. Remus.”

Draco had almost stuck his nose up in the air, but suddenly heard someone calling for the girl. 

“Siri! Siri!”

The girl turned her head and looked behind her. “Over here Mr. Remus!”

Draco was shocked to realize he had known Remus Lupin since he was four. In his first past with Atlanta, he hadn’t met Lupin till the man showed up to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts his third year. It wasn’t until he was sixteen he finally put together Atlanta’s tutor, Mr. Remus, was in fact the same person as his former defense teacher. 

Lupin had come striding across the street to meet them at the cafe. Draco noticed, when he’d watched the memory in his father’s pensive late one night, that Lupin frowned a bit when he’d spotted Draco sitting at a cafe table alone. Lupin was also much better dressed than Draco had ever seen him. His robes weren’t patched for frayed. He also looked healthier. 

“He’s got nice hair,” Atlanta had announced to Lupin, a huge smile on her face. 

“Have you introduced yourself?”

Atlanta looked a bit shy and turned to Draco and said, “I’m Atlanta Black. Or Siri. Though, only Mr. Remus calls me that. And Sookie.”

She spoke well for a three year old. Draco remembered that clearly. 

Draco’s mother had shown up a moment later, frowning greatly at the sight of Lupin and Atlanta. Instead of taking a great liking to Atlanta instantly, as she’d done in Draco’s primary memory of his early life, Narcissa Malfoy had looked down right disgusted when presented with Atlanta, who had wild hair and was dressed in Muggle clothing instead of wizarding clothing. Draco also knew his mother disapproved of the fact the Blacks had hired Lupin as a tutor/nanny combo for the child. After a few stiff comments, Lupin had taken Atlanta away. 

Atlanta had turned several times to try to catch Draco’s eye. She finally waved before Lupin threw her up onto her shoulders and vanished into the crowd. 

The next few hours, his mother complained about the child and thought it was in great distaste Circe Hilderbatch, world renowned Potions Mistress, had named her child after her cousin’s horrid friend and had hired Lupin. 

To four year old Draco, this had made no sense. To seventeen Draco, this made no sense. While Draco had never known why Atlanta was named as she was, he had been unaware of another Atlanta Black existing or that his mother had known another Atlanta Black.  

There was one other memory that seemed to stick out and it happened when Draco was almost five. During his last visit to the Black townhouse in London before his great aunt died, Draco had discovered some newspaper clippings during his snooping in the library. His five year old self paid little attention to it, but seventeen year old Draco paid a lot of attention to it.

The girl pictured in the clippings didn’t look like his Atlanta. But she was close. Very close. 

Where had this other Atlanta Black come from? 

Draco spent weeks secretly trying to research the other Atlanta Black, but kept hitting dead ends. He’d found she’d vanished in 1979, and also had been the youngest Master Spellsmith in two centuries six months after she graduated from Hogwarts in 1978. There was nothing on her before her apprenticeship at the Spellsmith Headquarters in Edinburgh in 1977. He had also found an AD Black had co-authored several books with TR DeVinette. DeVinette still was publishing books, but he was a hermit who refused to be seen by the public. 

Evidently, he was very handsome, so _Witch Weekly_ published a lot of articles about the man. 

Atlanta D. Black wasn’t on any of the Black family trees, British or American. The only Atlanta Black that appeared on any Black Family tree was Atlanta Siria Black.

Draco managed to ask his mother about the Atlanta she’d known at school, to which she’d told him the girl been an orphan or bastard or something. His mother knew very little about this other Atlanta she so clearly hated for unknown reasons. 

“She is not a proper Black, yet she wore the name like she was,” his mother said to him after he’d asked a second time. “And why do you care?”

Draco shrugged, knowing it was best to drop the subject till he got to Hogwarts and had better access to information. 

“I’m just glad our Atlanta behaves better than the woman she’s clearly named after for some reason. At least her mother gave her a proper Black middle name,” his mother had muttered.

The current Atlanta wasn’t anywhere near as polished and dignified as the old one. While he felt a little guilty, he liked the newer version better. 


	3. Meeting the Future Head On

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Excerpts of dialogue come from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR. **

* * *

“We need to get your robes,” Narcissa said, glancing at the Hogwarts school list in her hands as the Malfoys and Atlanta (who was visiting for the day) walked down Diagon Alley. 

Even though he knew it was coming, Draco still had stood at the window waiting for the owl to show up with his Hogwarts letter on his birthday. And he still felt a surge of excitement at opening it. Just as he had the first time. 

Lucius scowled. “I think I will pop down to the Ministry. Can you complete that on your own?”

Narcissa looked up at her husband, eyes narrowing. Lucius gaged at her withering look and amended, “How about Atlanta and I go get his books and you two can get his robes.”

“I’ll take Atlanta, darling. You go get his books. We’ll meet.”

She handed him the sheet of parchment that listed what books Draco would need and grabbed Draco and Atlanta’s hands. Draco ripped his hand out of her grasp, remembering what he’d said last time she’d attempted to hold his hand.

“I’m too old for that, Mother,” he snapped.

Atlanta continued to hold his mother’s hand. Unlike when he’d been eleven, he did not feel a surge of jealousy. Atlanta hummed quietly, slightly swinging the clasped hands. Draco half expected his mother to notice this and stop her, but she didn’t. 

“I keep forgetting,” his mother said. “Eleven is really indeed old.”

Draco nodded, holding himself high in a pose he knew made him look like a prat. His mother smiled at him as they entered Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. Draco took a seat and spent the next twenty minutes bored, as his mother looked through patterns, fabrics and other things. Atlanta sat next to him, kicking her heels back and forth against the chair. 

“This kind of boring,” she observed.

Atlanta twisted her seat and gazed out the window, humming an unknown tune quietly. That was another change with Atlanta: she was always humming or singing. And if she had to be quiet, she tapped her fingers to a beat that Draco knew had to be whatever song was currently living in her head. 

So far their trip to Diagon Alley had followed the script from his first visit (other than Atlanta’s quiet humming, which wasn’t all that noticeable except to Draco and his father). He still hoped that his mother would cart Atlanta off to wherever so he would be on his own for when Harry Potter walked in. Part of his new start was Harry Potter, the former Boy Who Lived.

Potter was still the Boy Who Lived at the moment, Draco reminded himself. As Potter was still living. He wasn’t dead. 

Draco felt a shiver go down his spin. 

“Draco, do you mind if Atlanta and I pop to a few of the shops while you’re measured? We will meet you at Ollivander’s,” Narcissa offered.

He did not mind. He waved them off with a flick of his wrist as he got onto the platform to be measured. He had not been up there long when he heard the door open, the little bells jangling. Madam Malkin asked, “Hogwarts, dear?”

Draco’s heart sped up. He felt a crackle in the air as he knew who was behind him. He moved a bit and finally saw the small boy reflected in the mirror. Potter was shockingly small, but the untidy black hair, glasses and green eyes were exactly as Draco remembered. The boy was swamped in oversized Muggle clothes that looked at least five times too big for him and he appeared somewhat timid. 

Potter? Timid? Was he timid the last time?  

Draco worked hard to keep the scowl off his face as Madam Malkin stood the boy next to him. Potter’s clothes were horrible. They looked to be from some whale of a kid’s reject bin. They were so large, Draco was sure this was why Potter looked so small and scrawny. Draco had gotten used to his own childish voice and stature, as well as Atlanta’s, but they were both taller than Potter, who looked like he was small from being cramped somewhere for too long. 

Like someone would stuff the Boy Who Lived into a cupboard. Draco scoffed at the idea. 

Madam Malkin tossed black Hogwarts robes over Potter and covered him, making him look exactly like Draco. Suddenly, Potter looked almost normal, but he still looked a lot younger than eleven. 

Draco took a deep breath. This first meeting was critical. The first time around Draco had acted like a spoiled brat, drawled on about things that would later lead to Potter rejecting him as an ally/friend. Or whatever Draco had wanted at the time. Since returning to his eleven year old self, Draco realized he had no friends, he had people his father selected to be his lackeys.

“Hello,” Draco said tentatively. Potter turned his head a bit, looking shocked to be addressed so friendly. “Hogwarts too? First year?”

Since he was so much shorter than Draco, Potter looked at him through his black fringe, which like Atlanta’s, hung into his eyes. Draco took notice of the Sellotape on his black round glasses and the fact Potter looked hopeful. The first time around Draco was too full of himself to even notice what Potter looked like, but now he noticed. 

Potter was utterly pleased to be address so friendly and tentatively. 

“Er, yes,” was the polite reply in a very childlike voice. Draco had to control himself not to looked too shocked. 

This whole thing was surreal. 

“Me too. I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy,” Draco said, introducing himself in the manner that always made Atlanta giggle. Draco had no clue why, but as he extended his hand to Potter, he felt a weird sense of déjà vu till he notice Potter grinning. 

The last time Potter hadn’t grinned. 

He stared at Draco’s hand for a moment, his grin growing a tiny bit, then maneuvered himself so he could shake Draco’s hand while having his robes pinned to fit his tiny frame. 

“Potter, Harry Potter” the boy said, introducing himself in the same manner, still grinning. 

It was making Draco way too happy that Potter shook his hand. He needed to get a hold of himself. 

And what was so funny about the way he’d introduced himself? 

An intake of breath from their feet got Potter’s attention. He moved back, their hands dropping. Draco did not miss the frown that appeared on Potter’s face as he eyed the witch pinning their robes. While Draco knew Potter despised his fame, that didn’t stop Draco from being obsessively bitter and jealous about it. He still felt a touch envious, but upon quick reflection, making a big deal out of the fact Harry was Harry Potter wouldn’t win Draco any points. Ever.

The one thing most important to Harry Potter at age eleven: being just another boy. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Potter,” Draco said, being careful not to sound too uptight and stuffy. Harry Potter gave him a timid smile. It was clear he had no idea how to proceed, now that he’d let the cat out of the bag he was Harry Potter. Draco swallowed. “So, are you excited to start at Hogwarts? I’ve wanted to go for as long as I can remember.”

“Really?” Potter asked. He looked excited, then rather sheepish suddenly. “I, well, I didn’t know about Hogwarts till last night.”

Draco’s eyebrows flew up. That was a bit of new information. While Draco was well aware Harry Potter had grown up with Muggles, he figured the Muggles would have told him all about his famous parents and the fact he was a wizard. 

“So, you were raised by Muggles?” Draco began conversationally. 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Potter seemed to shrink into himself.

“And they never told you? Never?”

Draco was honestly curious. The first time around, he’d never bothered to get to know the real Harry Potter. He only knew the famous Potter, the one he mocked, taunted and bullied. Because he was a jealous git.

And this first meeting, he’d been too busy showing off and acting like a self absorbed prat to find anything out about Potter other than he wasn’t Muggleborn. 

When he realized Potter hadn’t answered, he ducked his head to make out the fact Potter was scowling at the floor. 

“No.”

“They knew, right? I mean, you were left with them and I’m sure someone told them you were a wizard, right?”

“Yeah— wait, how did you know I was left with them?” Potter asked, looking up. His eyebrows knitted together behind his glasses in confusion. 

“I’ve, well, I’ve heard of you. Everyone has. You are rather famous in our world. You have realized that, right?”

The sheepish look appeared again. “Yeah. Figured that out. I sort of…well, a lot of people at the Leaky Cauldron wanted to shake my hand. And I don’t even know why.”

Draco nodded. “Not anything?”

Potter shook his head, staring back at his feet. 

“People can be a bit insensitive, I guess. To be famous for something you don’t even remember. And being constantly reminded you’re famous for, well, not dying.” Draco paused for a moment, backtracking. “I guess I’m not making it much better. My apologies.”

Potter’s head shot back up. His absurdly green eyes went large and he said, “No. No, er, it’s fine. You’re…being rather polite and better than those other people I ran into. It was just…they wanted to shake my hand and thank me. It was…strange. They were, er, a bit much.”

Draco nodded, understanding how that could be rather awkward. 

Why on earth did the person sent from Hogwarts not prepared the poor kid for this? To just walk the kid into a famous pub and not prepare him for the public? What dolt did that? 

“You don’t need to answer, but who have you been living with?”

“My mum’s sister and husband.”

Draco raised one blond eyebrow. “Your mum’s sister must have known you were a wizard, correct?”

Potter cast his gaze away, staring at the witch who was busy pinning the hems of his robes. 

“They told me they were killed in a car crash.”

Draco scrambled for what a car was. Something that clearly crashed. When Draco had been quiet for too long, Potter looked up. Slight amusement played across his face for a moment when he caught the look on Draco’s.

“Cars are things Muggles use to get around? On the streets?” Potter offered. “Wizards don’t use cars?”

Draco shook his head. “No need.”

Before Potter had a chance to ask, Draco filled him in on all the manners of magical travel, from brooms to the Floo network. By the time he was done, Madam Malkin sat back from where she’d been pinning Harry’s robes and told him he was done. Pulling the pinned robes over his head, he frowned, looking at Darco.

“Why are you still not done?”

“My mother is getting me a whole new wardrobe of robes for school. You know, casual robes, dress robes,” Draco said as his school robes were removed and his daily ones were placed over his head. “You don’t want to go around in your basic school robes on the weekends, do you?”

Draco tried to keep his voice from showing scorn. He had clearly done so, as Potter looked to be contemplating something. His hand went to his pocket, which Draco noticed for the first time was clearly filled with a bag of gold. Biting his bottom lip, Potter turned to Madam Malkin and asked how much robes might run him, outside of his school robes. Then he asked about other types of clothes, to which caused Madam Malkin leap up and run off, bringing back some images of trousers, shirts and other Muggle type clothing. Draco watched Potter carefully. His eyes lit up.

Potter clearly knew he looked like a sad sack of dung in his oversized clothing. 

Potter hopped back onto the stand as Madam Malkin merrily began to take the measurements again. Draco launched into explaining what Apparition was. Draco finished before Potter, but remained at his side, explaining things. The more questions Potter asked, the more enthusiastic he became and Draco noticed the shy, timid shell cracking and the real Harry Potter emerging.

The real Harry Potter that was appearing as Draco stood by his side was not the one Draco expected. This Harry Potter wasn’t annoying, didn’t have an inflated ego, nor was he angry and bitter like the Potter Draco had been dealing with the past few years. 

Clearly, this Potter didn’t hate Draco’s guts. Then again, Draco was different.

After the witches were done with Harry, they told them it’d be ten minutes before their purchases were ready. Draco wandered to the front of the shop, with Harry trailing behind him. 

“Have you gotten your wand yet?” Draco asked. 

As much as he wanted to squish the bubbling feeling within him, he could not. He liked this Harry. He couldn’t not like Harry. It was hard. Draco had always believed everything Professor Snape had ever said about Potter. 

Obviously, Professor Snape didn’t know Harry. This Harry, anyways. 

“No. Have you?”

Harry pulled out his change purse and counted out the gallons for Madam Malkin. Draco tried to contain himself, as Harry had clearly managed to master wizarding money in the few short hours he’d been on Diagon Alley. It was the first thing Draco had not seen him ask questions about. That in itself, Draco thought was a feat. Most Muggleborns had almost as much trouble with wizarding currency as wizards had with Muggle currency. 

“No. I’m supposed to meet my mother and my cousin Atlanta at Ollivanders after I’m finished here. Would you like to come along?”

“Oh,” Harry said, looking a bit befuddled. “I’m supposed to— oh, Hagrid!”

Harry’s whole face lit up with a huge smile. Draco turned around to see the half giant standing outside the window of the store, holding two ice cream cones. Draco remembered seeing Hagrid before during his first meeting with Potter and he’d taken what he now knew to be a grave misstep: insulting Hagrid. 

Draco trailed after Harry, not willing to let him get away yet. 

“There yeh are, ‘arry!” Hagrid greeted, extending the cone to Harry. Harry took it, turning to Draco. Hagrid noticed Draco for the first time. “Who’s yer friend?”

“Thanks,” Harry said, looking at the ice cream with large eyes. It wasn’t even a very large cone, but from the expression on Harry’s face it was Christmas all over again. “Oh, this is my friend Draco.”

Warm and giddy feelings spread through him at the word _friend_. Only one person called him a friend: Atlanta. Though, if he was honest, the rejection Potter had served out the first time around stung. No one turned Draco down, because he was a pompous ass who thought the world revolved around his fat head. 

Except Harry Scarhead Potter. 

But, not this time around. 

He couldn’t help but feeling a tad bit smug about it. 

“Draco, this is Hagrid. He’s the keeper of keys at Hogwarts and he brought me here to get my school stuff,” Harry said, clearly thrilled.

The school sent Hagrid to introduce Harry to the wizarding world? Did they happen to do some of those Muggle drugs that made you out of your mind? Wouldn’t someone like, say, McGonagall make more sense? 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Draco said smoothly, extending his hand to Hagrid. 

Hagrid looked somewhat confused. Draco managed to keep his face smooth as the man’s huge hand shook his, almost knocking him over. 

“Will yeh be starting at Hogwarts with ‘arry this year?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Ah, don’t be callin’ me sir. It’s just Hagrid.”

“All right…Hagrid,” Draco said, somehow managing to get the words out. He’d never actually referred to the half giant by name. Ever. Unless he had to. However, as he tried to remain pleasant, he found his feelings towards the man hadn’t changed as his feelings towards Harry Potter had clearly changed. Draco still found the man a bit dim. 

Harry was exciting relaying their exchange in the robe shop to Hagrid, who began to wearily eye Draco for some reason. 

“Can we go to the wand shop?” Harry asked politely. “That’s where Draco is heading and he asked if I could go with him.”

Draco peeked up to watch’s Hagrid’s reaction. He seemed to be doing some serious thinking, torn between the fact Harry had managed to find Draco Malfoy and seeing how happy Harry was. It’d take a total moron not to realize the kid was hardly happy about anything. 

Again, pride and joy filtered through Draco. He was on a roll. 

“Well, okay. I suppose we can do that. I’ll walk with yeh, then— well, I’ll get yeh yur animal. As a present,” Hagrid stated, looking pleased.

“What? No…”

“Ah, not trouble. I’ll walk with yeh,” Hagrid said, lighting pushing Harry. Or, what Hagrid thought was light, as Harry stumbled into Draco. Draco caught him, righting him. The group walked down the alley towards the wand shop. Draco’s fingers began to tingle. He missed his wand. The last time he’d seen his wand, it’d been in Potter’s hands. And it was working surprisingly well for Potter. Flexing his fingers, Draco peeked over at Harry, who was walking around looking as if he was trying to take in all the sights of Diagon Alley at once. Those startling green eyes were going to pop out of his head at any moment. 

Harry began to ask questions, which Draco answered without much thought. He was looking around the alley with new eyes: Harry’s eyes. It was outside his usual manner, as he was used to charging through with an air of superiority when he walked these streets. He was a Malfoy, destined for grand things and most people who walked here weren’t worth the scum on the bottom of his shoes.

It was different now, Draco was changed. The things he had strongly believed in as an eleven-year-old were now shattered. His belief in his father was disintergrated. His belief in the whole pureblood verse non was crap. Blood did not matter. The wizarding way of life mattered. It was your use of the magic you had been granted. No matter wherever you came from. His father was mislead and Draco hoped he’d be able to set his father on a less violent path. Though, he was beginning to think he’d never change his father’s views. The one time he’d mentioned something along the lines since he turning back the clock, his father had all but beheaded him. 

Draco glanced over at Harry and startled when he realized he was enjoying himself, despite his original reasonings for talking to Harry. Draco was smiling. Honestly smiling and enjoying Harry’s reactions. The more they interacted on their way to the wand shop, the more Harry opened up. He let his awe and wonder show on his face and Draco found he was looking at things from an outsider’s point.

Harry was fast becoming more than a simple means to an end. 


	4. Wands, Links and Presents

**Diclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Much of Ollivander’s dialouge comes from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR. Other bits also come from the book. **

* * *

“Wow,” Harry breathed as they stood in front of the musty wand shop.

“DRACO!”

The door to the shop flew open and Atlanta tore out of the shop, waving what looked like a cauldron. She ran up to Draco, chattering wildly about whatever was in the cauldron, failing to even realize Draco wasn’t alone. 

“Aunt Cissy even let me look at the brooms!” Atlanta finished. She finally noticed the overly tall man behind Draco, her eyes widening. Her eyes began to glitter, the light catching the gold remnants left over from the full moon five days ago. “Why, you’re really tall.”

“And yeh an American,” Hagrid stated, sounding rather confused. 

“I am!” Atlanta exclaimed, bouncing. “Who are you?”

“Atlanta,” Draco chided.

Atlanta went on smiling. “I’m Atlanta Black.” 

Draco took a chance and peeked over his shoulder. The color drained from Hagrid’s face as he studied the girl. The play of emotions flitted across his face as he stared at Atlanta, who looked every ounce a Black, was somewhat amusing. While Draco was keenly aware of the features that didn’t belong to the Blacks, he doubted Hagrid would pick up on these. Atlanta stuck out her tiny hand. Her eyes narrowed a bit, waiting. She knew what she was doing. 

“Hagrid,” Hagrid said, a laugh in his tone, finally taking her small hand. 

“He’s the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,” Harry burst out with. 

Atlanta turned to look at Harry for the first time. Her eyes lit up again, the fading gold tones glittering strongly with her excitement, but not because it was Harry Potter. She turned back to Hagrid and asked, “You work at Hogwarts! I want to go, but all us Blacks have gone to Dibonein since it was founded by…my great to the millionth place grandfather.”

“What’s Dibonein?” Harry asked, looking perplexed.

Atlanta turned to Harry and began to chatter about the magical school founded somewhere in the mountains by her relative.  

“Uh, I’ll just let yeh all go in there. I’ll pick yeh up after yeh are done, all ‘ight, ‘arry?”

Harry nodded. Atlanta paused in her babble and peered at Harry. “I forgot to introduce myself to you. That was poor of me. I’m Black, Atlanta Black.”

Once again she stuck out her hand, smiling at Harry in a manner Draco had never seen her do before. Harry looked flustered, but shook her hand. Suddenly, a smirk appeared and he said, “Potter. Harry Potter.”

They both giggled like they’d just shared the most important inside joke in the world. 

“I love James Bond movies!” Atlanta announced. “Mom says they are too…over my head, but I like explosions. I don’t like all the kissing.”

She scrunched up her aristocratic Black/Lupin combination nose and grabbed Harry’s hand. She tugged him a few time before Hagrid chuckled and bid the group farewell. Draco quickly thanked Hagrid for allowing Harry to come with them. Hagrid studied Draco for a moment, then nodded. Draco hurried into the shop, where Atlanta was babbling about Dibonein while his mother looked simply scandalized at her behavior. 

“Hello, Mother,” Draco greeted loudly. 

“Draco dear— who is Atlanta speaking to? A new friend of yours?” 

Draco watched his mother eyes dart to the large retreating figure through the store window. He was sure she’d watched what had happened outside, but had judged there was a reason her son was socializing with who ever he was. Atlanta suddenly ceased speaking mid-sentence.

“Mother, this is Harry Potter,” Draco said, indicating to Harry. 

Harry smiled politely as his mother stepping forward. He looked unsure if he ought to offer his hand in this instance. Narcissa’s eyes widened and swept over the ill clothed boy, her eyes linger on the scar on his forehead. Feeling her eyes, Harry patted his fringe down and shifted a bit awkwardly. Atlanta bounced up on his side and grabbed his hand again. 

“Aunt Narcissa,” she said. “Harry got my James Bond reference!”

Narcissa jerked and turned her attention to Atlanta. She gave the child a scolding look for a moment and Atlanta stopped bouncing. 

“Harry, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Draco’s mother,” Narcissa said. 

Harry timidly offered his hand, the one not in Atlanta’s grasp. He was clearly retreating into his shell now that he was in front of the intimidating Narcissa Malfoy. His mother took Harry’s hand and shook it. She patted the seat next to her. Harry took a peak at Atlanta before sitting down. Atlanta quickly sat down on Harry’s other side. 

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice clearly rang out from behind them. 

Draco turned around. An old man with creepy eyes appeared out of the gloom of the shop. Behind him, Draco heard Atlanta gasp a bit, as she was unfamiliar with how Ollivander enjoyed popping out and scaring his customers. 

“Hello,” Harry replied. 

“Good afternoon,” Draco offered and was promptly ignored in favor of Harry. He squashed down the ignition that flared up. If he was going to be a friend of Harry Potter’s he needed to get used to this. While it was clear Harry detested this treatment, it was going to happen. If the jealous prone Weasley could get used to it, Draco could as well. And much faster than the Weasel. 

“Ah, yes, yes, yes,” Ollivander said softly, his light eyes going wide. “I thought I’d be seeing you. Harry Potter.” 

He breathed the name and the whole shop seemed to shudder. Draco moved a bit and noticed Harry flattening his fringe again. 

“Mother’s eyes,” Olliveander stated, his eyes resting on Harry’s face. “It seems like only yesterday she was here to get a wand herself. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, willow. Perfect wand for charm work.”

Ollivander took a step closer to Harry, studying him even more. Harry fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. Atlanta put a hand on his arm and frowned a bit as she studied Ollivander. 

“Do you blink?” 

Ollivander seemed to snap out of his revere and turned sharply to look at Atlanta. His eyes drifted over her, and for a moment he looked almost scared. 

“You’ve not blinked since we got here, you see,” Atlanta clarified, sitting up straight. 

“Atlanta Siria Black!” Narcissa scolded firmly.

Draco startled, having never actually heard his mother scold anyone other than a House Elf before. Least to say, it was dramatically different due to the lack of disgust in her tone. 

Atlanta sheepishly withdrew a bit, before peeking at Ollivander again, who was now studying Atlanta, looking confused.

“I was unaware Sirius Black had a child,” he commented. From the softness in his tone, it sounded like it was a comment meant mostly for his ears only. “Ivy, fifteen inches, dragon heartstring, rather bendy.”

Atlanta looked confused, which was new for her. 

Ollivander peered at her closer, almost sticking his nose right in her face. “Ah, but I do see it. The hair, the cheekbones, the over abundance of energy, yet…the eyes are all wrong.”

“That’s what Daddy says. About my eyes. He’d never told me I was Sirius Black’s kid. Did he have the same color eyes?” 

Atlanta frowned. She opened her mouth to say more, but Narcissa hissed, “Atlanta.” 

Atlanta slowly backed up in the chair, knowing she’d upset Narcissa deeply. Draco took a deep breath, knowing that sometimes his mother hated being related to Sirius Black. At the moment it was due to the fact he’d gotten himself caught killing thirteen Muggles and leaving only a finger behind of a wizard. In the future it’d be because he hadn’t, been innocent, and then wound up dead at Bellatrix’s wand, thus ending the Black line. Draco was sure they’d never had a good relationship, but Draco knew very little of Sirius other than Harry likely loved the man. And his mother was deeply disappointed in the man. 

Ollivander snapped to attention upon seeing Narcissa as she gave Atlanta a cold look. Atlanta sagged a bit till Narcissa hissed something and she sat bolt upright and stiffly. Draco tried not to laugh. Atlanta always forgot to sit up straight. He was sure she couldn’t even walk in a straight line. Doing anything straight wasn’t in Atlanta’s genes. 

“Narcissa Malfoy. Willow, ten in a half inches, unicorn tail, stiff,” Ollivander rattled off. Draco suspected this was just something the man did, rattle off people’s wands. For her part, his mother smiled tightly and nodded her head at him. Ollivander turned his attention to the two boys. “Who would like to go first?”

“I will,” Draco quickly volunteered, seeing he was standing. His fingers were itching for his wand back as well. 

Harry gulped a bit, almost looking grateful. Harry seemed to want to ask more questions, so Draco began to ramble on all he knew about wands. He listed off the wood, the different sort of magical cores and how birth dates tended to allocate the wood type. Ollivander returned, looking mildly impressed with Draco’s knowledge. 

Draco wasn’t about to admit where he’d learned it when Ollivander asked him. Partly because he doubted Ollivander would believe him (as he’d learned it from Ollivander himself when the Dark Lord had kidnapped the man) and partly out of frustration. Draco wanted to shout he knew which wand was his, especially after the large pile of wands was sitting at his side. He held his temper, though, and didn’t shout for his hawthorn wand. He didn’t remember it taking this long to get his wand last time, either.

So, Draco kept going on about wands for another thirty minutes. 

A glance at his mother told him he was trending into unknown territory. She looked impressed that he knew so much without her knowing, yet she was baffled why he even knew it. Let alone why he was answering all of Harry’s questions without a hint of annoyance. (Harry had begun to ask questions again after Draco began talking.) 

“Here we go. Hawthorn, ten inches, reasonably springy, unicorn hair,” Ollivander said, taking Draco’s soon to be wand out of the box. 

Draco almost leapt up to snatch the wand from Ollivander. Being short had it’s downfalls. Ollivander handed the wand to Draco and the warmth flowed through him and green sparks erupted out of the tip. Atlanta squealed and Harry cheered. Draco turned in time to catch the pair exchanging grins. Narcissa Malfoy looked like she wasn’t sure if she ought to scold Atlanta again or sag in relief that they could leave. 

* * *

“May we stay for Harry?” Atlanta asked as Narcissa stood up, taking her coin purse out. Narcissa froze, glancing at Atlanta, who was wearing her puppy dog eyes. 

“Yes, Mother,” Draco said. “I’d like to stay. Please?”

It took ten more minutes of whining while Naricssa was paying for her to relent. It would have taken less than ten minutes, but Ollivander kept trying to figure out who Atlanta belonged to. He kept listing off Black relatives and wands for Atlanta, who for her part, looked politely baffled. Ollivander, though, seemed to think they were playing a game. 

“All right,” Narcissa said, on the cusp of sounding exasperated. “Atlanta, sit back down.”

Atlanta sat in the chair next to Draco, grinning widely. Draco sat up straight and proper, keeping up appearances. Atlanta followed suit and copied Draco. 

“Ah, now Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said and listed off Potter’s father’s wand, which was good for Transfiguration. 

An hour later, the entire wand shop was piled all around Harry, who looked like at any moment he was going to be buried in wand boxes. Ollivander stroked his chin, muttering about a tough customer. Draco was beginning to resent the fact he’d wanted to stay, when Ollivander squished his mouth together and finally said, “I wonder— yes, why not?”

The creepy old wand maker vanished for a moment, returning with a box that looked older than dirt. He blew the dust it off into Harry’s face. Harry sneezed, blinking rapidly. Carefully, much more carefully than he’d taken the other wands out, Ollivander removed a dark colored wand.

“Unusual combination,” he informed Harry. “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Harry timidly reached forward and took the wand. From his body language, Draco could tell this was the right wand. Even before Harry brought it down in a swish and sent a stream of gold and silver sparks all over the place. There was something about Harry that simply lit up when the wand was grasped in his hand. He stood taller and with more pride. 

“Well, well, well,” Ollivander muttered, watching the sparks die out. “Curious, very curious. Curious.”

He took the wand form Harry, who frowned a bit. “Sorry, but what’s curious?”

The silvery, pale eyes fixated on Harry, boring holes into his head. 

“I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. The phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand only gave one other feather, it so happens. Just one. It is curious this wand has chosen you when its brother gave you that scar.”

Harry’s hand flew to his fringe and he flattened it down. Atlanta gasped next to Draco, her golden eyes huge as she looked at Harry. Draco and his mother, equally shocked, could only stare. 

What were the odds? 

Hell, Harry Potter _was_ the Chosen One. 

Ollivander nodded, carefully tucking the wand back into the box older than dirt. “Yes, yes. Thirteen and a half inches, yew. Remember, the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around. I think we’re to expect great things from you. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name did great things, terrible, but great things.”

A shiver ran through Harry as he took the box. “Voldemort had the brother of this wand?”

Narcissa let out a quiet hiss at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name. Draco shifted uncomfortably. Harry’s habit of using the Dark Lord’s name was going to take some getting used to. 

Harry didn’t seem to know how to react to anything that had just happened. It struck Draco he needed a parental figure in his life. Luckily, they had one with them. After recovering from hearing the Dark Lord’s name, Narcissa stood up, reminded Harry to pay and thank Ollivander. Harry quickly did as was suggested and Narcissa ushered the three children out of the shop, where they were met by Hagrid. He had a cage with him, filled with a snowy owl. Draco felt a gush of something upon seeing the familiar, white, snowy owl. He wasn’t sure if it was comfort or just familiarity. 

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” Hagrid announced, brandishing the owl at Harry. Harry gasped, uttering he’d never gotten a birthday present before. Draco cut him a look, waiting for him to correct himself. He didn’t, though, just continued to gaze at the owl, stumbling over his thanks while also insisted Hagrid didn’t need to get him anything. 

“It’s your birthday?” Atlanta asked, her crooked smile appearing on her face. 

Harry jerked towards her, looking up at the taller yet younger girl. Atlanda dug around in the cauldron she had for a moment till she pulled a bag, which she thrust at Harry. 

“I knew there was a reason I wanted this. Here. Take it. It’s yours,” she insisted.

“But— no, it’s yours. You— no,” Harry stuttered. 

“No, it is clearly for you,” Atlanta said. 

Hagrid grabbed the cage from Harry, encouraging him to take the bag. Harry took it and stared at it before opening it up, looking confused.

“They are Gobstones. Here,” she said, going back into the cauldron. “I have a book explaining the game.”

“Atlanta, did you really know it was Harry’s birthday?” Narcissa asked, a line appearing between her eyes. 

Draco remembered Atlanta was in the habit of carrying and buying things she did not want. She’d had this trait in the original timeline. When Draco had first met her (the first time around), she’d suddenly realized why she’d been carrying around a fire breathing dragon toy for over a year. Altair Black, her father, claimed it was Seer blood in her, though her mother, Circe Hilderbatch (the woman was a famous potion maker first, a wife second) chalked it up to her daughter’s good nature. Draco figured Atlanta was simply a little weird.

Draco smiled softly as Atlanta dug around looking for whatever she was trying to find. Draco was sure she had at least ten random items in the pockets of her robe meant to be given to people when they’d most need them. 

“No,” Atlanta simply said, finding the book. She held that out to Harry. 

Harry took the book slowly, thanking her, while looking like he’d walked into a dream, and yet was still completely baffled. 

“You’re welcome,” Atlanta sang out in her soft Southern accent. 

“Harry,” Draco said, drawing Harry’s attention. “I’ve got to get going, but, erm, well, now that you’ve got an owl, would you mind if I wrote to you? Until school starts up?”

Harry lit up, his eyes wide with a combination of surprise and joy. “You want to write to me?”

He asked it like he didn’t dare to allow himself to believe this. 

His home life must be really bad. Draco felt bad for the kid, who wasn’t a snot nose, spoiled brat. Harry wasn’t even mean. While Draco had been dimly aware of this fact as a kid, it meant nothing to him. But, having the experience and knowledge of a seventeen-year-old, seeing this eleven-year-old who was innocent and desperate to belong somewhere, kind of made Draco feel a combination of confused and conflicted. His emotions went against everything he knew about himself: He was not Harry Potter’s friend or fan. He had hated Harry Potter on principal. He swallowed all this, hiding behind his well bred mask for a moment till he could conjure up a smile and make his eyes somewhat warm. 

As he looked at Harry, though, he knew the smile and feelings were genuine. He _wanted_ to be Harry’s friend. He _liked_ Harry. 

“Of course. Is it all right?”

“Yes. I’ve never had an owl before. How does it work?”

“Well, we can exchange addresses now.”

“Me too! I’ll write too! Even after you’re in school!” Atlanta offered. She was bouncing, her ponytail swishing back and forth behind her. “I don’t start school till a year from now.”

“What do you do if you’re not in school?”

“I have a tutor,” Atlanta offered. “He’d love it if I had a pen pal! He’s British!”

Harry looked at Atlanta like she was speaking Greek to him. 

“My tutor. He’s British. It’s why I sound weird to other Americans.”

Harry continued to look baffled. 

“We can all exchange addresses,” Draco clarified. He turned to his mother. “Can I use some of the parchment we bought earlier?”

“I’ve got a bit in my purse,” she offered, opening up her handbag and pulling out a slip of parchment and a self inking quill. She also pulled out a leather bound address book, which Draco knew contained all the right people’s addresses. She handed these items to Draco, who quickly wrote down his address, as well as Atlanta’s for Harry on the slip of parchment, which he handed to Harry. Harry recited his address for Draco as “Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey, England.”

His mother’s address book now contained something it’d never had before: A Muggle address.

Draco turned and thanked his mother. She took the address book silently from him, dropping it into her bag. She gave Draco a rather curious look as Draco turned back to Harry. 

“I’ll write you tonight, if that’s fine?” Draco asked hesitantly.

“Brilliant. I’ll watch for the owl,” Harry said, smiling. 

Draco gave a short nod. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Harry. You too, Mr. Hagrid.”

“Nice to meet yah too, Draco. You to, Atlanta. Er, nice seein’ yeh, Lady Malfoy,” Hagrid said, sounding awkward. He gave a slight bow of his head to Draco’s mother, while looking mildly baffled. 

“It was…pleasant seeing you here as well, Mr. Hagrid,” his mother responded formally in a rather clipped tone. She did manage not to sneer or grimace, having reached the same conclusion as Draco: do not think ill of the half breed in front of Harry. She turned her attention to Harry. She smiled a very small smile, which Draco had only seen her ever give to Atlanta when she was behaving like a lady. “It was also a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter.”

What happened next shocked Draco to his core. His mother knelt down till she was eye level with Harry and smiled fully at him. She studied the timid, tiny boy for a moment. 

“Did you know we’re second cousins, Harry?” she asked, in a quiet voice. She reached up and brushed his fringe over to the side so it was more or less fully covering his scar. Harry’s eyes widened a bit, his jaw dropping. 

“What?” Draco asked. This was news to him. Atlanta even looked baffled, and she had the whole Black family tree memorized. Both American and British. She even knew the Malfoy tree, as at some point the Malfoys from France had also immigrated to America and married into the Black family. Never once did either of them remember a Potter. 

“Cousins?” Harry asked, his eyes firmly on Narcissa’s. 

Narcissa nodded, her hand squeezing Harry’s upper arm lightly. “Yes. Your father was the son of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black, my great aunt.”

“Potter’s grandmother was a Black?” Draco blurted out.  

“Wait till I tell Mr. Remus!”

For once, Draco’s mother ignored these random outburst, her attention on Harry.

“I’ll have to show you the Black Family tree. The Potters are on there.”

Draco had seen that family tree, yet had never realized there was a Potter on there. Then again, it might have been wiped out, as his family didn’t exactly like to parade around the fact they were related to the one who vanquished the Dark Lord. Or tried. 

“Wait, so Draco and I are related?” Harry exclaimed, looking a combination of stunned and excited. 

“That’s right.”

Hagrid appeared baffled and concerned. He’d clearly not been prepped for this. That and Narcissa Malfoy was more likely to act cold and indifferent to people, not caring, affectionate and loving, which was how she usually was around Draco. And only Draco. 

He tried to feel jealous, but the look of pure confusion and distinct air of being uncomfortable coming from Harry prevented this. It was clear no one really took care of Harry. 

Draco had no doubt that Dumbledore would be informed of this exchange between Harry and the Malfoys (plus the random Black child who was American).


	5. The Boy in Rags

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don’t own it.**

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy carefully studied the famous Boy Who Lived. She’d been suspicious and confused when Draco and Atlanta had shown up with the tiny boy. She refused to believe the tiny, ill dress child was Harry Potter. Who would dress Harry Potter in over sized rags? And allow him out of the house in Sellotaped glasses? 

Also, if memory severed her correctly, neither James Potter or Lilly Potter nee Evans was short. This child was a runt. Standing between Draco and Atlanta (who was uncommonly tall for a girl, granted), the boy looked a lot younger than his supposed eleven years. 

The only clear proof this child was indeed Harry Potter was the fact he had the scar. And Draco called him thus. 

Upon inspecting the boy for herself, she discovered he was indeed a Potter. There was very little of the Mudblood woman in him, except for his eyes. He had James Potter’s out of control hair, which was black due to the Black blood flowing in his and his son veins. His nose was all Potter, while the structure of his face was very much the aristocratic make up that the Blacks all seemed unable to get rid of. If the child was properly fed and care for, it’d become clear that Atlanta and the boy were related, distantly. It had amazed Narcissa as Atlanta grew up, she looked more and more Black. Every American Black she’d met, it was easy to pick them out as relatives of hers. 

The Black genes were strong. 

The Potter child was too thin, which Narcissa determined by giving the boy a warm squeeze on the arm. He was also tense and unsure, never tenderly cared for or spoken to. Outraged had filled her upon his reaction to getting an owl for a present. And the look on the poor boy’s face upon Atlanta handing him the Gobstones? It was a crime.

Who did that Muggle loving fool leave this poor child with?

“Today’s your birthday? Are you eleven?” Narcissa inquired. The boy nodded. “Eleven’s just the right age.” The boy looked confused. “Have you ever been to the eye…doctor.” 

The Muggle word tasted strange in her mouth, but she must have said it right, as the child knew what she was talking about. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head. 

“No, my, erm, Aunt Petunia took me to the charity shops to pick out some glasses after my teacher at school insisted I needed some.”

The boy uttered the sentence as if it had been a horrible tragedy. 

“Well, Mr. Hagrid could take you to see one of our…eye doctors. It’s called an Occulary here. You’re old enough, but not too old to have a spell done to reverse the bad eye sight. I had it done when I was your age.”

“You did?”

Narcissa nodded. She slowly stood up, keeping her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Mr. Hagrid, even if he chooses not to do the vision correcting spell, he ought to have his eye sight tested. I’m sure it’s changed. And, he could use new glasses.”

“Is it expensive? The vision correcting spell?” Harry asked. Upon looking up at her, he quickly backtracked. “I have…well, I have a bank account. I didn’t count it though.”

Since he was the last Potter and thus heir to the Ancient and Nobel House of Potter fortune, he didn’t have to worry. Though, Narcissa suspected the boy hadn’t been told this information. He looked like he was currently fretting over money. 

“Hagrid, could we go?” the child asked, looking up at the half breed. “At least…to get new glasses?”

“Sure!” the oaf shouted at Harry, sounding shocked at the request. Honestly. “We got time.”

Harry turned to her and smiled at her. Really smiled at her. The effect was stunning. 

Narcissa had lost almost her whole family through choices they made. While she didn’t fault Andromeda for her choice to marry for love, to keep up appearances within the family, Narcissa gave the impression of disowning her older sister. After marrying into the Malfoy family, it was required, but Narcissa still sent a occasional owl to Drommie. 

Bellatrix had made a foolish choice after the fall of the Dark Lord, landing her in prison for life, as had her cousin Sirius. Regulus, her favorite cousin, had wound up dead due to his choices and the Dark Lord.  

She was the last British Black left. Yet, here in front of her, within her reach, stood Harry Potter, a cousin. A short skip and hop on the family tree lead Harry to Narcissa. Another link to the once proud Ancient and Nobel House of Black. While the Potter’s hadn’t exactly been in her social circle while she and James were growing up, they did occasionally cross paths. He’d been proud, if a bit arrogant for the wrong reasons. 

She didn’t have to totally pin her hopes on Atlanta to bring back the pride lost in the last war to the House of Black. Harry Potter could help with that. While she wasn’t sure why Draco had taken it upon himself to befriend someone like Harry, as on appearances alone Draco wouldn’t have even noticed him other than to scoff at him, she was glad nonetheless. In front of her were three wonderful children to build a strong future on. While the last name Black might never carry the power it once did in Britian, the blood would still be passed on. And with the fresh blood Atlanta and Harry brought, maybe the strain of insanity would die out?

“Great,” Harry said, still smiling his infectious smile. He turned back to Narcissa. “Thank you, uh, Mrs. Malfoy…er, Lady Malfoy for the suggestion.”

“You can call me Aunt Narcissa if you’d like. No formal titles needed between friends,” she offered.

“Okay.”

Harry got even brighter. 

“I’ll write tonight,” Draco reminded the child. 

Harry smiled even wider, waving and said goodbye. Hagrid took his shoulder and began steering the tiny child way. Narcissa frowned. Why did that Muggle loving fool send that half breed to introduce Harry to the wizarding world? Didn’t they usually send McGongall? She had a good head on her shoulders. 

“Draco, dear, is there any reason you befriended Harry? You know your father won’t be pleased,” she said, more out of habit. 

Lucius would not be pleased. While he had managed to escape prison for his foolishness, he still strongly believed in it. His son befriending the downfall of his so called master wasn’t exactly going to go over well. 

“I have my reasons.”

Atlanta made a noise. “Seriously?”

“No, I’m joking.”

“No, you’re Draco.”

Draco sent and annoyed look over to his distant cousin. “He looked like he needed a mentor. So, I stood up to the challenge. Plus, this way he will meet the right people. No one is really sure how he…did whatever to the Dark Lord. I’m keeping my options open.”

Naricssa took Atlanta’s hand and tugged her a bit. 

“I liked him,” Atlanta announced, falling into step with Narcissa. She swung her cauldron a bit. Atlanta sighed rather over dramatically, getting that damn crooked grin on her face. While usually Atlanta reminded Narcissa strongly of her cousin Sirius, when she smiled like that, she looked like her tutor Remus Lupin. It was disturbing to say the least. There was no way for the child to be related to Lupin. “I wish I was going to Hogwarts. That’s where it’s at, y’all.”

“Don’t use that crass word, Atlanta,” Naricssa scolded, cringing at the sound of it. “What did your father say?”

“Hicks say that world, Atlanta,” the girl said, lowering her voice to imitate her father. “Proper young ladies don’t say that. Members of the Salon don’t speak like gutter rats.”

“I doubt he called them gutter rats,” Draco snickered.

The children began to bicker, but Naricssa ignored them. She had had an idea. 

* * *

Harry’s head was spinning. He was sure if he lacked a neck that was attached to his spine, his head would be actually spinning in circles around him. Or simply fall off and roll under his bed. He had a whole month’s worth of letters scattered around his room, all from Draco and Atlanta. While Draco seemed to remain at his home, Atlanta never seemed to remain somewhere for long. He had two letters from her claiming she was at Draco’s, one from Iceland, one from Asheville, North Carolina, one from New York City, a mountain in India, Nice, France and finally Washington D.C. 

Atlanta’s travel letters were filled with random things, like she couldn’t make up her mind what she wanted to tell Harry. While he didn’t know her very well, he got the feel she was dictating the letters to a quill and was mostly rambling. (It occurred to Harry that with magic, the ten-year-old might have actually been doing this, as Muggles were coming up with devices to record speech on a computer in written words, so wouldn’t wizards already have them?)

The most fascinating thing Atlanta had told him was all about the werewolf sanctuary her mother had founded in North Carolina. Harry was shocked there were such things as werewolves. Atlanta assured him he need not worry, as responsible werewolves locked themselves up on the full moon as to not bite and infect people. It took her two different letters to explain this, for some reason. 

Draco’s letters were formal and informative. The first few sounded a bit stiff, but as the rest of the summer rolled out, Draco loosened up a bit and Harry felt he was getting to see the real Draco, not the proper little gentlemen he seemed to snap into when he was made aware he was acting like an eleven-year-old. 

Not that Harry really understood what real eleven-year-olds behaved. He only knew himself and Dudley. He hoped most eleven-year-olds didn’t behave like Dudley. 

Draco had let Harry know how to actually get to the platform to go to school. Hagrid had simply handed Harry his ticket and put him on a train, vanishing into thin air. Harry had no clue how to get to a platform called nine and three quarters. He’d never seen a platform that was a fraction before. 

Draco had encouraged Harry to crack a textbook or two. Harry had already read a few of them before Draco’s prompting. However, after hearing that Draco’s godfather was the Portions Master and didn’t entertain “incompetent dunderheads” Harry had read the Potions book cover to cover, as well as the other potion related books Draco had sent along for Harry to borrow.

Draco seemed to be rather obsessed with potions. Harry wasn’t sure why, but after he’d read the book, he thought Potions was a bit like cooking, something Harry was familiar with. After Draco said that while Harry couldn’t do magic outside of Hogwarts till he was seventeen, he could brew potions, as they didn’t use his wand (usually). Seeing Harry didn’t want to burn through too much gold, Harry only made useful potions, like burn ointment. It was helpful when he burned his hand while cooking breakfast. After the success of the first one he tried, he tried a few others. 

He was thrilled with his results. He was able to make bruises fade quickly, diminish burns and soothe his sore muscles quickly after a hard day of weeding and gardening. His sunburn solution wasn’t up to par yet, but he hadn’t even started school yet. He wasn’t expecting miracles. 

Following Draco’s mother’s suggestion, Harry had gotten his eyes fixed that afternoon in Diagon Alley. It was really expensive and Hagrid had tried to talk him out of it, but Harry had begun to imagine a life without glasses. No more broken glasses, no more taped glasses, no more being blind when he woke up in the mornings. Dudley’s favorite thing to do was steal his glasses so he was unable to see. 

Not any longer. 

It was well worth the money. 

Shuffling through the letters, he pulled out the one which Draco had given him some information on his family. While Draco didn’t know much about the Potters, he was a wealth of information on the Blacks. Draco had found Harry’s grandparents names from the Black Family Tree and sent a copy of the tree (complete with Atlanta’s additions) to Harry. 

The Black Family tree made Harry dizzy, as it seemed interconnected, between both sides of the family, American and British. Though, the moment a Black married an American Black, they were “blasted off the tree” as Draco had put it. Harry gathered this meant the member of the family disowned. The Blacks seemed to “blast off the tree” for various reasons: marriage, political view points, lacking magic, or being American (unless you were on the American side of the family, then you were blasted off for the other reasons). 

Draco had given Harry an interesting nugget of information in telling him the story of the Black family: Sirius Black, current head of the Black Family (which Harry was getting was a big deal in the wizarding world—  heads of Ancient and Nobel families, that is) and prisoner of the wizarding prison Azkaban, was Harry’s godfather. Or Draco was pretty sure. Atlanta hadn’t known anything about this Sirius Black, only about the various Sirius Blacks related to her, like her older brother. Atlanta knew Harry’s godfather had blown up some Muggles and became rather well known, hence making her own brother, also named Sirius Black, hate his name, so he went by Dre. 

Atlanta failed to explain why her older brother went by Dre. Harry assumed maybe he was a fan of the rapper Dr. Dre. 

Harry had tried to find information on Sirius Black the Muggle Exploder, but hadn’t gotten very far. There were a few mentions of him in a few books on the Dark Arts, usually along side the stories about Harry. He’d asked Draco about it. His mother finally told him what she knew after Draco had pestered her for a few days. 

 _He was thrown in prison_ , Draco wrote _, after your parents died. My mother says without a shadow of a doubt he was not a Death Eater (one of the Dark Lord’s followers). She doesn’t believe he did the crimes he was accused of doing that caused him to wind up in jail, as the wizard he supposedly blew up shouted he’d betrayed your parents. Mother said the wizard blown up was a friend of Black’s and your father’s, who I guess hunted Black down after your parents died to confront him about going dark. Mother says Black would never have gone dark, or blown up the other guy. She was very sure of herself when she stated Sirius Black was never a follower of the Dark Lord. Per Mother, Sirius Black had no problems with Muggles and wasn’t exactly one for harsh violence. Especially after being mollified by his younger brother and his friend whilst they were at Hogwarts. Oh, and he valued his friends over all else. She is sure he’d rather have died than betrayed anyone he called a friend._

_She is insistent that Sirius was framed by someone, yet she doesn’t have any proof or idea why he was framed. Or what really happened on the street the day he was arrested._

_I think the whole incident is vaguely fishy now that I’m asking questions and thinking about it. I don’t know how law works in the Muggle world, but in the wizarding world, trials are usually held before someone is thrown in jail, and no trial was ever held for Sirius Black. He was never questioned or tried, simply locked away. Between what my mother has told me about Black’s character and what I’ve found about the indecent, I think he was framed. Why, I’m still not sure. We can look into it further once we’re at Hogwarts together._

Gulping a bit, Harry tucked the pile of Draco’s letters into his trunk. His head was bursting with information. He had a convicted felon for a godfather, who was rumored to be a follower of the man who had tried to kill Harry and had killed his parents. The man had blown up a street full of Muggles and then his own friend for unknown reasons. Part of Harry wanted to go save this man he’d never met, while the other part of him was fine leaving him in jail. While Draco and his mother found the whole thing fishy, there had to be good evidence to not give Black a trial and throw him in jail for life, right? 

Harry shoved that letter to the bottom of the pile. He didn’t want to really think about it. While it’d be wonderful to have a godfather to take him away from Privet Drive, he did not want to pin his hopes on a convicted felon, especially one who was in jail for murder and maybe betraying Harry’s parents.  

The next letter Harry looked at again was the one that told him he was the Potter Family Heir, meaning there was more than likely more money in the goblin bank than what he’d seen. He had family from his father’s side who were still alive. Though, if he was honest, the best news was that he had a cousin like Draco. Draco _liked_ Harry. Harry had yet to meet a person who actually _liked_ him and was willing to be open about it. 

Draco told him to not worry about any of the things having to do with being Potter Family Heir till he was seventeen, though, as when he came of age in the world, he’d be able to inherit all his titles and seats on various boards that Draco said all the old families had. 

The letter with all that information had been fascinating to Harry, but he still wasn’t sure exactly what to make of all of it. 

Information overload. If Harry had been a computer, he was sure his hard drive would be full and crash. Rebooting wouldn’t work. He’d need a new memory board and a larger hard drive. 


	6. A Very Different Launching

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don’t own it.**

* * *

Standing on his tip toes, Draco waited for Harry to appear. He was sure, at some point, Potter ran into the Weasley’s, hence why when Draco had found Potter on the train in the last timeline, he’d been with the redheaded Weasley. Weasley had also managed to taint Potter at that moment, as Potter had turned up his nose at Draco’s offer of friendship. 

Draco was sure this would not occur this time, as Harry and Draco were friends. Better friends than Draco had been with any of his past so called Slytherins. 

Shockingly. 

“He will be here, darling,” Narcissa said quietly out of the corner of her mouth. “Stop that. It’s unbecoming.”

“You ought to just get on the train,” Lucius drawled, sounding utterly bored. 

Draco stopped moving, freezing his face in order not to scowl. He was about to give up, when he spotted the head of untidy hair pop through the barrier. Alone. No redheads in sight. Draco let out a breath he’d failed to notice he was holding. Harry looked around for a moment. He looked rather different without his trademark glasses, but no one seemed to be staring at him as he made his way across the platform. 

“He looks less like James without the glasses,” Draco heard his mother whisper so quietly he was sure she hadn’t realized she’d vocalized this thought. 

“Harry!” Draco called, worried Harry would walk right passed him. 

“Draco!” Harry greeted, pushing his cart towards Draco. “Hi, uh, Aunt Narcissa.”

“Aunt?” Lucius snorted behind Draco, then made a noise as his mother had clearly elbowed her husband in the side. 

“Hello, Harry. Did you find the platform all right?” she asked, smiling down at Harry, looking pleased at what she was seeing. 

Draco was impressed. Besides the lack of the ratty glasses, Harry was wearing clothes clearly made for him, as well as new shoes that weren’t taped together so they wouldn’t crumble. Draco was secretly glad his father had not been with him that day in Diagon Alley when he’d first met Harry. This Harry was much more presentable. 

“Yes, actually. Thank you for telling me how to get here, Draco,” Harry said, turning his attention to Draco. “I’d never have figure it out otherwise.”

Lucius cleared his throat. Draco jumped a bit.

“Oh, sorry, Father. Father, this is Harry Potter,” Draco said, indicating to Harry. 

Harry looked up, and up, at Lucius Malofy and faulted for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “Hello, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Harry Potter,” Lucius said, extending his head a bit at Harry. He did not extend his hand, nor did he say any more. He gave Draco a look. Draco knew his father did not approve of this relationship, or his associating with The Boy Who Lived. 

Draco didn’t care. He turned to Harry and smiled.

“Excited?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you two ought to get on the train. Dobby, please load their trunks,” Narcissa ordered, changing her tone to address the House Elf. 

Dobby appeared and Harry did a double take at the odd looking elf with the long ears and tennis ball shaped eyes. 

“It’s a House Elf,” Draco explained. “His name is Dobby.”

“Hello, Dobby,” Harry said. 

Dobby stared at the boy, his eyes getting even larger than normal. 

“Dobby,” Lucius snapped.

Dobby jumped five feet and scampered off, the trunks and owl cages floating behind him. Hedwig gave a few noises of protest, before the chaos of the platform drowned her out. 

“He’s like a servant,” Draco went on when he noticed Harry’s expression. Before Harry could ask anything else, he said, “Let’s go find a compartment. Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Mother.”

Lucius nodded at Draco. “Do us proud.”

“Send us an owl tomorrow to tell us what house you’re in,” Naricssa said, hugging Draco, who made a noise of protest.

“I will,” Draco promised. 

Sorting. Draco had forgotten about that. He wondered if he’d still sort into Slytherin. He didn’t see why he would not. He was still cunning and he did have great ambitions: save the wizarding world from the insane Dark Lord and his reign of terror. Draco glanced at Harry, who his mother was now bidding goodbye and encouraging to write to her if he needed anything. She even hugged him, which left Harry looking baffled. 

“Come on,” Draco said, grabbing Harry’s arm and towing him towards the train. 

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry called out as Draco dragged him onto the train. 

Draco knew the feeling wasn’t mutual. 

* * *

The two boys found an empty compartment near the back of the train where Dobby had stored their trunks. Draco dropped into a seat and let out a long breath. He didn’t remember going off to school to be so tiring. Harry sat down across from Draco. He watched out the window as families said their goodbyes. He had a rather wistful look on his face as he watched the Weasleys in all their craziness. 

“So, did your uncle give you trouble this morning?” Draco asked, wanting to draw Harry’s attention back to him. 

Harry snorted. “He thought it was hilarious I wanted to go to platform nine and three quarters. He actually walked me to the barrier between nine and ten and thought he was really funny till I took the cart from him and walked through the wall.”

Harry grinned at Draco, a glint in his eye. Draco had never seen this side of Harry: mischievous. 

“I bet his face was something,” Harry finished. “Too bad I couldn’t see it.”

Draco laughed. The train jerked forward. Draco let out a deep sigh. “Finally.”

“Anxious?” Harry asked. “I know I am.”

“I guess I am. I…well, it’s been hard since my birthday and I knew I’d be coming to Hogwarts to be in the house. I…well, I don’t see a lot of other people my own age.”

“Really?” Harry asked frowning. “Don’t you go to school?”

“I have lessons, remember?” Harry nodded. “I…I don’t…”

Draco was having trouble wording what he wanted to say. He no longer liked any of his old friends, nor did he really know them very well any more. Or did he want to know them. He’d never enjoyed their company, but, now that he’d changed so much (and the fact he was mentally seventeen years old) he really couldn’t stand them. He’d seen them several times since he’d…returned, and they annoyed him to the point he was about to rip his toenails out. 

If you’d told him a year ago he’d actually prefer the company of Harry Potter to anyone else, Draco would have hexed you. 

“I’ve known them my whole life and I don’t think we see eye to eye on certain things any longer. I’m ready to start…over. Clean slate,” Draco offered, looking at Harry, praying he’d understand.

To Draco’s relief, Harry smiled and nodded. “I get it. I didn’t have any friends back home, so I was just excited to…well, be somewhere new where no one would judge me for my past or my family.”

Draco nodded. “I agree.”

“So, you don’t really know anyone besides me? I mean…”

“I know people, but they are not people I’d call my friends,” Draco clarified. He sunk back into the seat and watched London roll by. “They are the correct people for me to know. Being…well, being from one of the Ancient and Nobel Houses in the wizarding world is like being a member of the Royal Family in the Muggle.”

“Ah, yes, Atlanta explained that…more or less. So, when you say you knew kids our own age, you meant that they were from the proper and right families,” Harry said, nodding. 

“Purebloods tend to only socialize with other purebloods,” Draco said. 

Harry frowned. 

“Like nobility only really socialize with other nobility,” Draco offered. “In the Muggle world, for instance, I doubt you had much contact with, say, Prince William.”

Harry laughed. “No. I can’t say we were best friends. So, uh, is that why your dad was kind of…well, cold?”

“That’s just him,” Draco muttered. “Don’t mind him.”

The conversation turned from purebloods, to wizarding games. Draco was anxious to introduce Harry to Exploding Snap, which Harry seemed to enjoy as much as Draco. Time began flying by, the discussion moving from various Muggle games Harry had played to Quidditch. Draco was pleased to find out that Harry, while not knowing a whole lot at this point about Quidditch, was rather passionate about it and wanted to know everything about it. Harry stated a few times he couldn’t wait to learn to fly. 

The lunch trolly rolled up as Draco became aware that he was starving. With smug delight, Draco watched Harry’s eyes go wide at the sight of the wide array of wizarding sweets contained on the trolly. 

“And I thought I’d be getting a Mars bar,” Harry muttered as the two boys sat down with their stash of sweet confections. 

While Draco had gotten an armload of his favorites, Harry seemed to have gotten one of everything. Soon their piles of sweets combined and the boys were eagerly exchanging things. 

“Are these really frogs?”

Draco looked up. Harry was holding a package for a Chocolate Frog. 

“No. They are charmed to jump, so be quick,” Draco suggested. “Also, they come with trading cards. A lot of kids trade them and collect them.”

“Cool. We have stuff like that in Muggle world,” Harry said, carefully opening up his Chocolate Frog. He caught it before it went anywhere, biting off the head as he studied the card. 

“Hey, where’d the picture go?”

“Pictures move in the wizarding world. Didn’t you notice that in your text books?” Draco asked, glancing up from his pumpkin pasty. 

“Weird,” Harry breathed, still staring at the trading card.

“Who did you get?”

Draco couldn’t honestly remember if he collected the cards or not. It seemed a rather undistinguished thing to do and something his father would frown upon.  Racking his mind, he figured he might have collected them as a kid, but once he “grew up” he stopped. He sure didn’t know what to do with the card at the moment. 

“Dumbledore,” Harry replied, flipping the card over. His eyes trailed over the back of the card. “He enjoys ten pin bowling?”

“What?” Draco asked.

“That’s what it says. I wasn’t aware there was eight pin or five pin bowling. I thought you always had ten pins. Is that a wizard thing?”

Draco shrugged. “Dumbledore is kind of…eccentric.”

Harry made a humming noise and placed the card on the seat next to him. Harry turned to the bag of Bertie Bot Every Flavor Jelly Beans and stared at it for a moment. Draco decided not to warn Harry that it meant every flavor you could imagine. He was actually amazed it was still only him and Harry in the compartment. Draco was sure Crabbe and Goyle would have hunted him down, as he knew they were more than likely under orders from their fathers to befriend Draco ASAP. 

Draco snorted. He had no desire to be friends with them again. If you could even call it friends. They were more like his thugs. Glancing over at Harry, who was making strange faces, Draco knew he no longer needed thugs. He wasn’t going to be a bully. As weird as it felt, he was going to be a good guy. It seemed to go against his nature, but he’d made his choice. 

Friends, not thugs. 

Light instead of Dark. 

Right instead of wrong. 

Dumbledore told Draco, many moons ago, he had a choice. He had a chance to change, as he had made a choice. He’d not taken those words too close to heart at the time, mostly because he was terrified and could not think clearly. Then, everything went to hell in a hand basket laced with daisies and henbane, but now— far away from danger, Draco could think. He made a rash choice, a selfish choice to send himself back in time, but he was here and he’d make the best of it with the information about the future he had. 


	7. Know-It-All Granger

**Disclaimer: If you know it it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

Harry spat out his next jelly bean. 

“You know, you could have warned me,” Harry grumbled as Draco laughed at him. 

“Sorry. It was too good to pass up,” Draco laughed as the compartment door slid open. 

Hermione Granger standing in the doorway, her hair very bushy and her nose slightly up in the air. The image of the woman she’d become was still etched in Draco’s mind, so finding her awkward and with that strange air of imperiousness around her was jarring. His mouth dropped open as he studied her, decked out in her black Hogwarts robes, complete with the black tie all first years wore before sorting. She glanced between Harry and Draco, her know-it-all air thick in the air, for a moment before speaking. 

“Excuse me, have you seen a toad? Neville has lost his,” she said, sounding somewhat pompous.

Pompous was not a work Draco would have associated with Granger, but her tone dead on. 

Too distracted by her large front teeth to answer her, Draco simply stared. He’d forgotten how large those front teeth were before she had accidentally got hit with a curse their fourth year and had them magically fixed. Tragically, she wasn’t vain enough to actually go get them fixed as soon as they reached Hogwarts. He wondered if she’d ever get them fixed, now that it was highly unlikely Draco and Harry would get into a battle in the hall before Potions and she’d get cursed. 

Maybe he’d curse her for the hell of it? Or, he could trick Goyle or Crabbe into doing it… 

“Isn’t it a little early for robes?” Draco heard himself asking. 

That was the first thing he chose to say? At least he hadn’t said something about her teeth. 

Granger frowned at him, her eyes snapping to him and regarding him for a moment. 

“Why would it be?” she demanded. “We’re on the train for school.”

“When are we supposed to change?” Harry asked, looking out the window. 

The sun was still high in the sky, but the train was rolling through countryside, having made it out of the city sprawl of London. 

“Are we close? Where is Hogwarts?” Harry went on. 

“No,” Draco said, answering the first questions. 

“Scotland, but the true location is unknown. It’s a highly protected secret the exact location of Hogwarts,” Granger reported, sounding she was reciting a textbook. 

Granger looked down for a moment. Neville Longbottom was tugging on the sleeve of her robes, his round face filled with what looked to be fear. Frowning for a moment, Draco wondered if Longbottom had placed him as a Malfoy and thus was frightened of him already. Skirting through his memories, even the few odd duplicates that were different from what he personally remembered, he had never come across Longbottom before. 

“In answer to your first question, no, we haven’t seen a toad,” Draco politely said. “You ought to find a prefect. I’m sure he or she will be able to summon it with a charm.”

Both Granger’s and Harry’s faces lit up at the prospect of seeing magic in action. Longbottom, though, winced. More than likely realizing he ought to have thought of that. 

“Would they really do that?” Hermione asked.

“Of course,” Draco said, trying to keep the sneer off his face. 

Granger began to turn away to set off to find a prefect, but turned back, sticking her hand out in Draco’s direction. 

“I’m Hermione Granger, by the way.”

Draco stared at her hand for a beat. Besides the fact witches did not shake hands with wizards, she was a Mud— Muggleborn. After spending the rest of the summer with his parents, he’d kept to refer to Muggleborns in the derogatory manner, even though he had been working to stop since the Golden Trio had dropped in for spring break at Malfoy Manner. Granger _was_ rather impressive at the end of the day and he respected for her not buckling under his Aunt’s wand. 

Draco shivered internally at the memory. 

Draco was going to have to get along with people like Granger. Not just for his current goals, but after Harry sorted out the Dark Lord, the new world would more than likely require Draco to socialize, work with and associate with Muggleborns. If the wizarding world was going to keep going, they’d be needed in the New World Order. Or whatever it was going to be called. 

Urg, Draco didn’t need to be plotting this out at the moment. He was eleven. He had a few years to figure it out. Right now, it was in his best interest to befriend Granger. Besides being the smartest person in their year, she needed to become best buds with Harry. She was the brains behind everything. Draco was a big enough person to admit this and move on. 

Part Two of Draco Saving Wizarding Society: befriend Hermione Granger. 

Draco took her hand and gave it a shake. 

“Draco. Draco Malfoy,” he introduced. Longbottom squeaked. “And, usually, witches don’t shake hands with wizards in our society. Am I right in guessing you’re Muggleborn?”

He kept his voice light and polite. Hermione blushed, her cheeks tinted a deep shade of pink.

“Yes, I am. What do witches do?”

“Well, in proper society, they curtsy,” Draco admitted.

Granger looked like she’d just had puss shoved down her throat. 

“But, err, I guess you could offer your hand,” Draco amended. “Or extend your head? I’ve seen my mother do that.”

He left out she did that when she was introduced to someone below her. 

“Pureblood society it stuffy,” Harry commented. “I’m Harry Potter. And you can just shake my hand.”

Harry thrust his hand out to her. 

“Are you really?” Granger asked, failing to see Harry’s hand till Draco cleared his throat loudly. She quickly took it and shook Harry’s hand. Her eyes were wide still, filled with eagerness and awe. “I can’t believe it. I’ve read all about you!”

Harry looked like he was regretting introducing himself suddenly. Granger sat down next to Draco, not bothering to realize she’d just sat on top of a bunch of empty sweet wrappers. Longbottom continued to hover by the door, which he’d managed to prevent from closing somehow without hurting himself, though he looked like he was in pain. 

“You’re mentioned in several of the additional books I picked up for extra reading when I bought my school supplies! They all same basically the same things about you. You know, that you defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby. I’m sure you know all that, but you’re like one of the few famous wizards! There are so few well known people, unlike in the Muggle world.” She said all this very quickly before she frowned, studying Harry carefully. “You don’t look much like a famous person.”

She sat back a bit, frowning. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. What was a famous person supposed to look like? Draco hadn’t met too many famous wizards. Mostly Harry Potter and Victor Krum, who like Harry (and the old version of Potter), wasn’t all that impressive. Unless he was on a broom. (Both of them, if Draco was honest.) 

“I grew up in the Muggle world. I didn’t know I was famous till about a month ago,” Harry admitted, glancing at Draco. He looked like he wanted help.

“You did? Wow! So, you don’t know anything about the wizarding world?”

Harry shook his head. 

“So, I’m not the only one?”

“There are a quite a few Muggleborns in our class,” Draco intoned, glancing over at a worried looking Longbottom. He was moving from foot to foot looking like he really wanted to drag Granger off, but didn’t at the same time since she seemed to be enjoying herself. 

“So, you don’t think we’re at a disadvantage?” she inquired.

Draco shook his head. If she had asked Old Draco, he would have told her yes, but he knew better. There was no pureblood who was as quick at learning new spells as Granger. There was a reason people called her the brightest witch of her age. 

“We learn somethings as children, but for the most part, everyone at Hogwarts is on a level playing field in learning magic. You can’t really control your magic too well till you’re eleven,” Draco said, still eyeing Longbottom. “I’m going to take Longbottom to find a prefect. Why don’t you two talk? Harry actually knows quite a few things about potions, having tried a few this summer.”

This seemed to excite Granger, who hadn’t actually tried any potions or spells, just read all the books. Draco stood and motioned to Longbottom to follow. Longbottom looked like he’d rather die, but took a few timid steps forward. Draco sighed deeply, not believing he was about to say what he was, but he turned to Longbottom and said, “I know you’ve heard of my family and I know it must have been bad, but I’m not like them. I am not going to hurt you or anything. I’d like to help, all right?”

Longbottom nodded and stuttered a few things. Draco sighed again, but turned and headed down the corridor, looking for a prefect. Of course, the first one he came across happened to be the fifth year Weasley one, the pompous one with the horrible, black horn-rimmed glasses. His chest puffed out as he noticed Draco and Longbottom approaching.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

“Longbottom lost his toad and we were wondering if you could summon it for him. We can’t find it,” Draco reported, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice. There was something about Weasleys that rubbed him the wrong way, no matter how hard he tried to put aside his old manner of thinking. 

“Please,” Longbottom pleaded in a tiny voice from beside Draco. 

Weasley looked between Draco and Longbottom. His face looked completely baffled to find them together and Draco helping Longbottom out. While Draco had thought he’d escape a few of the preconceived notions on him, it was clear his families reputation proceed him and it was going to work against New Draco. 

He cursed his father. 

“Oh, of course.” 

Prefect Weasley snapped to attention and drew out his wand. With an unneeded flourish, he muttered the spell. He frowned.

“We’ll have to see if he’s in another car,” Prefect Weasley said. 

“I’ll leave you two to that,” Draco said. He turned to Longbottom. “Once you’ve found your toad, you are more than welcome to join us in our compartment.”

With a nod, Draco turned on his heel and started back to the compartment. 

* * *

Granger bombarded Draco with more questions on the wizarding world the moment he returned. Oddly, he did not feel annoyed in the least, as he knew her questions were rather intelligent for an eleven-year-old. It also helped that Draco’s ego was boosted quite a bit by how eager Granger seemed for his knowledge and wisdom. 

Longbottom had reappeared and after a moment of looking like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he sat down next to Harry. He offered a few tidbits of information, most disturbing was the fact his great uncle had hung him upside down out a second story window in order to determined if Longbottom was a Squib or not. Even to Draco, the actions Longbottom’s relatives took with the poor boy seemed drastic. Now wonder he was a bumbling fool. 

The sun set and all too soon the train was pulling into the station. Before they arrived, Draco and Harry changed into their school robes, while Granger waited eagerly outside and Longbottom went in search of his trunk for his own robes. By the time Draco and Harry emerged from the compartment to join the students filing out of the train, Granger was almost jumping out of her skin in excitement. She began to chatter, quickly, about basic facts she’d found out about Hogsmeade. 

“Well, aren’t you just a textbook.”

Draco turned sharply, as it sounded like a comment he’d make to Granger. He was surprised to find Ron Weasley behind him, looking rather pleased with himself. Granger frowned. Wealsey, meanwhile, stared at Draco with distinct dislike. Draco returned the look. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” Harry said quietly from behind Draco. 

Wealsey’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his overly freckled head. Harry’s fringe had been blown aside in the breeze, exposing his lighting bolt scar for the world to see. 

“You’re Harry Potter! They were saying Harry Potter was on the train!” Weasley all but shouted at Harry. 

Harry quickly reached up and flattened his fringe back down over his scar, looking uneasy. While Draco was used to the fact Harry hated his fame, Granger seemed to be catching on for the first time how uncomfortable it made Harry. She bit her lip, no doubt thinking about her reaction to Harry back on the train. 

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron said excitingly, sticking his hand out to Harry. His eyes darted to Draco and he frowned. 

Harry regarded the hand for a moment. Draco got another sense of déjà vu looking at the scene unfolding in front of him, only it was Ron in Draco’s place this time. Harry caught to look on Weasley’s face when he’d glanced at Draco, but took Weasley’s hand and gave it a short shake before quickly letting go. 

Wesley’s attention went back to Harry. “I can’t believe it’s you! In our year! Harry Potter! You’re famous! You better be in Gryffindor. It’s the best house. My whole family’s been it. You don’t want to be in Slytherin, like his lot. Dark wizards come from Slytherin.”

Draco rolled his eyes and moved with the crowd of first years following Hagrid’s directions to the boats. Draco hated the boats. They were rather stupid and took forever. 

“Harry, there’s a free boat,” Granger said, rather loudly and pointedly. Draco choked down a laugh when he noticed her face, as she was looking at Weasley with disgust. 

Harry was now glaring at Weasley. Draco, Granger, Longbottom and Harry had spent a lot of time on the train discussing which house they’d like to be in, or which one they thought they’d be in. Draco shared that his whole family had only ever been in Slytherin. Longbottom admitted his mother was a Hufflepuff and his father a Gryffindor and his grandmother expected him to be in Gryffindor. Draco offered that either house would be fine, which seemed to cheer Longbottom up and made him finally look at Draco without fear for the first time. 

“I’m not sure what he’s told you,” Weasley went on, jerking his thumb at Draco. “But, everyone knows the Malfoys are all Dark Wizards.”

While the statement was mostly true, it still upset Draco. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but at the same moment Granger and Harry both began to talk, though Granger was much louder than Harry and overpowered him, so Draco didn’t hear what Harry had said. 

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Granger snapped. “You don’t know him and have never met him. And just because you buy into the prejudices of the Houses, doesn’t mean they are always right. It just proves you have a small mind if you think simply because a whole family goes to a certain house makes them good or bad.”

“How do you know? You just met him!” Weasley shouted.

“He’s my cousin,” Harry said very softly. His tone had a dangerous edge to it and caused Weasley to back up a bit from Granger, who he’d been about to push his long nose into Granger’s personal space to continue to the fight. 

“Hermione’s right, though. Just because you’re placed in a certain house does not garentee anything about your character,” Draco said. “Let’s go. Come on, Longbottom.”

Because Harry was standing too far for him to grab, he took Longbottom by the arm and hauled him into an empty boat. 

“You’ve got dirt on your nose. Right there,” Granger informed the Weasel. Draco heard an angry intake of air from behind him. 

Granger and Harry soon filled in the last two spots in the boat Draco had hauled Longbottom into. Draco looked over his shoulder to find an open mouth and stunned Weasley, surrounded by two other soon to be Gryffindors whose names Draco couldn’t remember. 

Granger let out a noise of frustration. “I hope I’m not in the same house as him.” 

“Most Weasleys end up in Gryffindor,” he told her. She’d been torn if she wanted to be in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Draco figured she ought to leave it up to the hat. 

Hermione frowned at his statement. 

“So, you’ll likely be in Slytherin?” she questioned.

Draco nodded. 

“I wonder what houses my parents were in,” Harry mused. 

“There are exceptions to the norm,” Draco offered. “Sirius Black was in Gryffindor. Before him, all Blacks were in Slytherin.”

“Hmmmm,” Hermione hummed as the boat began to move along on its own. 

“Sirius Black?” Longbottom asked, his eyes wide. 

No doubt, Longbottom knew who he was. 

“The one that’s my godfather?” Harry asked, looking like he was trying to remember. There were at least three Sirius Blacks on the family tree Draco had sent to Harry.

“Yes. And he’s not guilty of the crimes he was accused of, Longbottom,” Draco announced.

“What are— Oh!”

Hermione cut herself off as the castle came into view.  There were a chorus of hushed exclamations of excitement from all the boats as the castle presented itself. Draco, who had pretended the first time he saw the castle to not be impressed, allowed himself to smile at the sight this time. He allowed his pureblood facade to fade a bit as he took in the place he’d be calling home for the next seven years. While technically Malfoy Manor was home, he’d always felt more at ease in his dormitory in the dungeons of Hogwarts. Just gazing at the castle, he couldn’t wait till later that evening when he’d tuck himself back into a familiar bed with green and silver hangings. 

“It’s amazing,” Harry breathed from somewhere behind Draco. 

“Yeah,” Longbottom agreed.

The castle seemed to have rendered Granger speechless. Quirking an eyebrow at her, she caught him and blushed. She quickly looked away, determinedly looking forward. Draco chuckled to himself and elbowed her lightly in the side. 

“Did you know the ceiling is enchanted in the Great Hall?”

“Of course,” she answered quickly. “I read it in _Hogwarts: A History_. Did you?”

Even though he hadn’t, he nodded his agreement. The boats bumped into the dock and the firsts years all began to scramble out and start up the stairs, heading into the castle. 


	8. The Sorting

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

As the heavy doors closed behind Professor McGonagall, chatter broke out among the first years gathered in the small ante chamber. Weasley began to spout off rather loudly all the nonsense his brothers had fed him about The Sorting. Draco wasn’t so sure why the whole thing was such a hush-hush thing, as even his father refused to tell him how he’d be put into a house. Draco glanced over at Harry, who looked rather pale and gulped. 

“Will we have to do magic? I wonder what spell I might need,” Granger wondered. 

“None. The Sorting is done by an old hat,” Draco offered. “It’s magical and sees inside your head or something.”

Draco wasn’t really sure how the hat worked, as it’d hardly even sat on his head before it shouted Slytherin. After that, Draco hadn’t paid the least bit of attention to The Sorting. Nor did he pay any attention any of the other seven years he sat through The Sorting. 

“We just have to put on a hat?” Harry asked, color returning to his face.

Draco nodded. While Hermione and Harry were clearly calmed by this news, Draco’s mind went into overdrive as he thought about The Sorting. While there was no reason for the Hat to put him into another house, what if it did? What if the Hat actually sat on his head and looked inside and saw what Draco had done? Draco didn’t want to get in trouble for what he’d done, or go back to where he’d come from. As far as he understood it, he couldn’t travel forward in time, just back. He was stuck here. 

But, still, they could chuck him in Azkaban for messing with time. He’d already made a few changes. A few without meaning to change things. Some had been changed before he’d been born. 

By the time McGonagall reappeared, Draco had worked himself up to the point he was about to collapse. It took all his concentration to not throw up and walk forward with the others into the Great Hall. He was hardly aware of the gasps and comments made by his fellow first years as they walked in, nor did he even hear the Sorting Hat’s song. He only snapped out of his nervous stupor when thunderous applause reached his ears and Harry elbowed him in the ribs with his pointy elbow. 

“Are you all right?” Harry whispered over the noise. 

“Of course,” Draco lied. 

Turning his attention to McGonagall, he began to chew on the inside of his cheek. McGonagall unrolled a long parchment and began to explain how The Sorting worked.

“When I call your name, step up and the Hat will be placed upon your head.”

There was a moment of silence, while the first years all shifted nervously. 

“Abbott, Hannah!”

A blonde girl stumbled forward. She sat down and the Hat was placed on her head. There was a short moment before the hat cried, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The girl scurried off to the loudly cheering table. 

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Brocklehurst, Mandy!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Brown, Lavender!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

“Bulstrode, Millicent!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

It felt surreal to watch The Storing for a second time, knowing exactly where all the students were going. While he hadn’t paid attention, he did know what house each student wound up in at the end of the day. Glancing at Harry, Draco found the small boy was yet again looking a bit pale and sick. 

“Finch-Fletchley, Justin!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Granger, Hermione!”

Granger rushed forward and sat down eagerly. The Hat dropped down, covering her eyes and resting on the bridge of her nose. It managed to push her bushy hair down so it looked like two clumps of brown fuzz. 

“Gryffindor,” Draco whispered grandly under his breath. 

No one noticed him. He waited. He was sure Granger hadn’t taken long the first time to be declared a Gryffindor, but this time it was taking forever. Harry and Draco exchanged looks. While Harry might not find this strange, Draco was downright disturbed. What had changed so much from the last time that Hermione was seemingly taking forever to sort?

Draco shifted back and forth on his feet.

“RAVENCLAW!”

Draco’s jaw dropped. 

Hermione appeared out from under the Hat, a big smile on her face. She looked pleased with her placement. She hopped off the stool and started towards the Ravenclaw table. Ron let out a pleased sounding sigh (there was no way he’d wind up in Ravenclaw), while Harry looked a bit sad, as Draco had a feeling Harry felt the same. Draco began to eat the inside of his cheek now, not paying the least bit of attention till Harry elbowed him again with that damn pointy elbow. It was like he sharpened it to be extra pointy. 

“Draco,” Harry hissed.

“Huh?”

Harry pointedly looked forward and Draco cursed silently. He strode forward, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. He sat down on the stool and braced himself. He felt the Hat come down over his head and waited for it to shout his House.

It didn’t. 

It fell over his eyes and blocked the view of the hall. 

That hadn’t happened last time. 

“Interesting, very interesting,” a small voice began in his ear. “I’ve sorted you once before.”

Draco almost yelped. The Sorting Hat was talking to him. 

“Put you in Slytherin last time without needing a proper look. Time has changed you, Draco Malfoy.”

 _Crap_ , Draco thought. _It knows._  

“Of course I know. I see into your head. It was a rather reckless thing you did. Brave, but reckless. Cunning, sly, but reckless indeed. You erased the future you remember and you altered time in such a manner I bet you can’t even fully grasp. I’m sure you’ve noticed a few duel memories?”

Draco gapsed.

“Yes. You’re action created a whole new timeline, starting all the way back in 1943,” the Hat went on, glee in its voice. “Between the two of you, I’ve seen the future as you knew it, but that future died the moment that girl landed in 1977.”

 _Wait, you mean that other Atlanta Black?_ Draco thought. _And didn’t you say 1943?_

“Ah, figured it out already. Clever boy. She seems to accidentally time travel often,” the Sorting Hat went on. “But that’s neither here nor there. Oh, and I did say 1943. That’s yet to come. What matters now, is sorting you into a House. Now, where to put you…you are still very Slytherin, but do you really still belong there?”

Draco contemplated the question. For the purpose he had come back for, did he really belong in Slytherin? Draco wasn’t even sure now that he was thinking about it. He had assume he’d be back in Slytherin, but would Harry really be put in Slytherin? Boy Wonder wasn’t very Slytherin, if Draco really thought about it. He had a few traits, but he was very much a Gryffindor. He belonged in that house. Also, would Harry be able to rally people if he was a Slytherin? 

Not likely. 

Also, if Harry was in Slythrin, on the off chance, he’d have only Slytherin friends. That was how Slytherins rolled. 

Would Slytherin even do anything for Draco this time around? He had thought it’d help him achieve greatness when he was eleven, but now? Any allies he made in the house would be useless for his current goals. He needed Harry. He had to side with Harry. And he liked Harry. While Draco was sure Harry would still be his friend no matter what house Draco was put in, he knew his fellow Slytherins would not approve in the least. No one in Slytherin liked Harry on principal. 

Hell, Draco didn’t like anyone who was in Slytherin. They were all like his father, deep down. 

Well, except maybe Blasie Zabini. He fell into no man’s land when it came down to it. Though, he was still seeped in pureblood mania and prejudice like the rest of them. The whole house was a flock of sheep following one another to slaughter at the tip of a wand. 

And yet, his family expected him to sort into Slytherin. It was tradition, something that was important to Draco. Draco liked traditions. That was part of why he was here: to protect wizarding traditions. 

Draco knew if he sorted elsewhere, his father would be livid. The wrath of Lucius Malfoy wasn’t something Draco was looking forward to, but… 

“Ah, yes. The whole going against your family manta. You know, I’ve had one quite similar to you,” the Hat offered suddenly. “He assumed he’d be in Slytherin— as that was where all his family had gone. But, when I looked into his head, it wasn’t really all there. At all. His little brother wasn’t all Slytherin either, but was dead set on following tradition. Poor child was not open to suggestion in the least after what had happened to his brother.

“I feel you are open to suggestion. You are different. You’re very much like your cousin Sirius Black.” 

Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, Draco remembered. First and only one ever in the Black family to do so. 

“Yes, brave, loyal, rash, brash and a bit of a hot head, he was. First and only Black to ever not sort into Slytherin. And, I believe you’ll do much better than he at keeping your head in tense situations, as you’re a lot more cunning and sly than he could ever be. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Draco snorted.

“Lofty goals you’ve set for yourself, and to get there, I think you better be in…. GRYFFINDOR.”

The Hat was pulled off and Draco was greeted by a silent crowd. The Slytherin table looked as if someone had just died, while the Gryffindor table appeared shell shocked. A few had their mouths hanging open. The other two tables were simply confused, all exchanging looks. The tension was broken by Harry and Granger who both began to clap at the same time. The Ravenclaw table caught on, followed by Hufflepuff and soon the Gryffindor table began to clap, while still looking like they’d gotten the short end of the stick. 

Putting an uneasy smile on his face, Draco slid off the stool and started towards the almost empty end of the long Gryffindor table. He sat down on the bench after swinging his legs over and glanced around. The Weasley twins were gaping at him, while a few others were eyeing him like he was a spy. 

Draco took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and sat up straight and proud. He might get a tongue lashing from his father, but he was going to be proud to be a Gryffindor, even if they were reckless and didn’t bother to think things through before rushing into danger. The Hat had told him his Slytherin traits would aid him. He had to contain a laugh when he thought he’d become an odd combination of both houses somehow. 

Looking around again, Draco couldn’t believe it. Draco Malfoy was really a Gryffindor. His tie had changed and his patched had morphed to a lion. 

Draco was snapped out of his musing when he heard more noise than usual all of a sudden. Looking behind him, he noticed Harry making his way forward, head hanging and trying to make himself small. The whole room was whispering about Harry Potter. 

The kid really hated being famous. 

Harry sat down on the stool, clutching the sides. The Hat was lowered and Harry’s whole head vanished under it. Draco choked on a laugh at the sight of Harry’s body with a hat for a head. The boy was very tiny. 

Fifteen minutes passed in silence till the crowd began to whisper again. This was the third sorting that had taken a long time. The student body began to get restless as Draco watched Harry clearly having an argument with the Hat. His hands clenched and unclenched quite a few times. Finally, the Hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The Hat was pulled off Harry’s head and a smile burst forth as Harry hurried over to Draco, taking the seat next to him. No one had sat near Draco. Except for Longbottom, who had moved down to sit across from Draco at some point. 

“That was close,” Harry confided as he settled on the other side of Draco. 

“Excuse me?”

“The Hat almost put me in Slytherin. It really wanted to put me there for some reason,” Harry offered, looking confused. “I had to talk it into putting me into Gryffindor, which was the only other House it was willing to try. I wanted to be here or in Ravenclaw. I mean, I don’t have anything against Slytherin, but you and Neville are here. And Hermione is in Ravenclaw. I’ve never…well, had friends before. I’d like to keep them. Plus…” Harry glanced over his shoulder at the tables behind him. “The Slytherins look…rather unfriendly.”

Draco happened to agree. They did look like an unfriendly lot. None of them were chattering or smiling. Hell, Parkinson was frowning at him, while Crabbe and Goyle were both eyeing him as if he were some kind of bug. Draco turned back around, putting the rest of the hall behind his back. 

“SLYTHERIN!”

A pin could have suddenly dropped and been heard. Draco couldn’t figure out why silence had descended once again till he looked at who appeared out from under the hat.

It was Weasley. 

Who still had a smudge of dirt on the side of his nose. 

Draco’s mouth dropped, mirroring the expressions on each of the three Weasleys sitting at the table with him. The Weasel on the stool was as white as a sheet and looked like a feather could topple him over.

“You’re in Slytherin?” one of the twins shouted, his eyes about to pop out of his head.

“I thought I knew you!” the other one yelled.

The Prefect sat with his mouth hanging open, rather unattractively. The burly boy, who Draco dimly remembered was the Quidditch captain, reached over and tapped the bottom of Prefect’s jaw, which snapped shut. 

Weasley looked up at McGonagall, who was staring at him with a similar expression as the rest of his family. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she looked at the Hat as if it were made of the essence of distaste.

Weasley rubbed the side of his nose. 

“Oh, get over yourselves,” Draco sneered. The whole room turned to look at him. 

“Oh, you’d say that! You stole his spot!”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, staring at the twin who’d spoken to him. “The Hat told me I belonged here. The Hat has seen something within…Ronald Weasley that makes it think he’ll do well in Slytherin. The world is not going to end just because ONE of you isn’t bleeding red and gold all over the floor.” 

Judging by the expressions of the Head Table, that last bit he ought to have kept in his head. Next to him, Harry was staring at him as if he were a bit off. 

Oops, he forgot he was eleven. 

“Quite right,” Dumbledore agreed quietly, causing the room to turn to him. It was almost comical how the whole room was behaving. If Draco hadn’t been embarrassed by his outburst, he might have laughed. “Mr. Weasley, please take your seat with your fellow Housemates.”

Weasley swallowed hard. He stood slowly, almost regally, and made his way with sudden grace worthy of his pureblood status to the table under the green and silver banners. He faltered for a moment before Crabbe and Goyle moved together a bit too quickly, making a spot between Crabbe and Parkinson. Weasley lowered himself into the spot, managing to almost look haughty. 

Either there was a bit of pureblood in that boy or he was a good actor. 

Draco was also pleased to see Weasley had finally gotten the dirt off his nose. 

“You ought to be proud. He’s clearly ambitious and will go far in life,” Draco informed the stunned looking twins. Prefect Weasley suddenly frowned a bit, looking like he was almost jealous that the Hat had seen ambition in his little brother. 

“Oh, you’d say that Malfoy,” a twin spat.

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Granger stood up on the bench somewhere behind him and loudly proclaimed, “Just because he’s in a different House from you doesn’t mean squat. Your House says nothing about you as a person, it is simply a generalization of traits you might value in yourself. And if you’re thinking he’s going to go bad, simply because of where he’s living, you are just as bad as the people who think ill of you because you’re in Gryffindor! You cannot judge a book by the cover, nor should you judge a person by his or her House!”

Draco nodded, narrowing his eyes. He wished his father would hold that true, but he’d deal with that when he had to. Like tomorrow. Or at Christmas. Or never. 

“Not every single Death Eater in the last war was in Slytherin,” Draco said in a very low voice, meant only for the twins to hear. Luckily, McGonagall was telling Granger to sit down, so Draco was sure that only the twins heard.

“Oh, I bet you know all about Death Eaters, Malfoy,” one snapped.

Draco curled his upper lip in distaste. “Tragically, I do. I don’t hold their views in the least and they disgust me, but unfortunately for me, I didn’t get to choose which family I was born into any more than you did. I can, though, make choices that will set me apart.”

“Quite! Quiet!” Dumbledore called, standing up. “While I’m all for a lively debate, there are a few students who still need Sorting. Once the feast has begun, I encourage you all to continue your debates. Now, let us continue.”

The Hall quieted down and remained that way until “Zabini, Blaise” was sorted into Slytherin. Oddly, Zabini, who usually didn’t speak with anyone, let alone show interest in anything not female, pushed Parkinson over and sat down next to Ron. He stuck out his hand, introducing himself to the Weasel as Dumbledore stood to make his opening remarks.


	9. A Few Flaws and a Scar

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

Tearing his eyes off of Zabini and the Weasel, Draco studied at the Head Table, not listening to whatever Dumbledore was prattling on about. Draco already knew he ought not to go into the Forbidden Forest, he had never bothered to pay attention to the list of things Flich had outlawed, and he knew the whole pain of death if he ventured onto the third floor corridor. Draco’s eyes landed on the back of Quirell’s head. Glancing at Harry, who was also staring at the Head Table, Draco knew he needed to keep Harry out of trouble. No doubt, the kid would go looking for trouble, but Draco wasn’t took keen on going off and doing whatever Potter had done at the end of his first year. Whatever he’d done landed him in the Hospital Wing. Though, he had gotten a boat load of House points for “showing pure love” or something sappy. 

“Ouch.”

Draco snapped his attention to Harry, who was rubbing his forehead near the lighting bolt scar. Taking a quick glance at where Harry was looking, Draco put the pieces together. 

Why had he failed to realize this before? Oh, wait. It was because he was a jealous prat and forced himself to believe Potter was only interested in attention. He never allowed himself to believe the fact that maybe the relic Voldemort left Potter actually was a connection to Voldemort.

Draco’s skin crawled. He wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy, yet here, poor Harry had just that. 

Though, that might be useful for detecting the Dark Lord. 

“Who is that?” Harry asked, indicting with a head nod at the Head Table.

“Which one?”

“The one with, err, the long black hair and expression of dislike.”

Professor Snape was indeed glaring and scowling. Draco wasn’t actually sure if he was doing this at himself or at Harry. Quirell, though, turned forward after saying whatever he’d been saying to Snape and Harry frowned, dropping his hand from his forehead.

“That was weird,” Harry muttered.

“What?”

“My sca—”

“Hurt?” Draco finished before Harry could even get the sentence out. Harry gave Draco a look. “You were rubbing it. I took a wild guess. And to answer your earlier question, that is Professor Snape, my godfather. I told you about him. I think he strongly disliked…your father.”

That was a wild guess on Draco’s part, in fact. From day one, Snape had it out for Potter. It was illogical, but he did. More so than anyone else as far as Draco could tell. He made the rather large jump to the disliking of James Potter due to the fact everyone always told Harry he looked just like his father. Snape also tended to compare Harry to James Potter, who Snape had an unfavorable view. 

“They knew one another?” Harry asked. He lowered his voice, “Is this like your thing with Sirius Black?”

“I’m serious. I’m sure Professor Snape and your father knew one another. They are the same age. Look at him. I’m sure he got picked on as a kid and you, well, look like your dad. I’m sure people have said that,” Draco whispered as the gold plates before them filled with food. 

“Yeah. They have said that, though not so much since I got rid of the glasses,” Harry admitted, still frowning. “I feel like you’re leaving something out.”

Draco sighed. “I’d watch out for Quirell if I were you. He gives me the creeps and I know to listen to my creeps. I mean…”

Harry burst out laughing, rather loudly. Draco groaned, picking up his fork and stabbing the food that had appeared on his plate.

“I’m serious, though. There is something just…off,” Draco concluded. 

Draco had no clue how to broach the topic of the fact that Quirell was in league with Voldemort. Enough to set Harry’s Scar Alarm off. Draco wasn’t even sure what really happened first year. The rumors going all over the school claimed Quirell was possessed by Voldemort and attempting to get some sort of stone. The Golden Trio had set off to save the stone and stop Quirell from getting it. They, of course, succeeded. Dumbledore awarded them points, an ungodly amount, for being brave, standing up to friends (Longbottom, oddly), playing chess and keeping her head in a tense situation. Oh, and sappy love crap. 

Clearly, Draco was still bitter. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Excuse me?”

“You are frowning at your meal,” said a boy across from Draco. He looked up and saw Thomas, whose first name he could not remember. He was a boy with very dark skin who was a Muggleborn, or something. He’d been captured during the war for not knowing his blood status and kept in the Malfoy Manor till Potter broke him out. 

Draco felt his stomach turn over. He set his fork down. 

“I…”

“Were you thinking about Sirius Black again?”

Draco suddenly sat up straight. “Damn it!”

Harry, Thomas and the Irish kid all sat back a bit. Longbottom startled so badly, he sent mashed potatoes flying in Draco’s face. Oddly, Draco didn’t care. He’d remembered something very important in regards to getting Sirius Black out of jail. 

“The rat’s in Slytherin now!”

And with that, he let his face crash right into his meal, further getting food all over his face. 

“I thought you liked Slytherin, Malfoy?”

“The rat, the rat, the damn rat,” Malfoy muttered, not caring he was making an utter fool out of himself.

He hadn’t formed a clear plan to get Sirius out of jail and into Harry’s life, but he knew the answer to it lay in the rat the Weasel owned. 

“Uh, Draco, mate?”

He felt Harry put his hand on his back timidly.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“No. I’m not.” Draco lifted his face out of his food and grabbed his napkin. After wiping down his face he took his wand out and cleaned the napkin silently. He waved it at his own person and did the same, without realizing a first year wouldn’t know how to do this. Silently. “I…Sirius is innocent.”

“Draco. I know you think that…” Harry said, trailing off. It was clear that Irish Kid and Thomas had no clue who Sirius Black was and everyone else at the table was too busy mocking Draco’s face plant to notice he was clean and talking. Or had cast a series of silent spells. 

“We need that damn rat. It was going to be easy. How will we get the damn rat?” Draco asked, turning around to peer at Weasel. 

“Oi! Malfoy! What rat do you want?” one of the twins called out. “I thought Slytherins were snakes?”

“Your brother has a rat!” Draco cried. 

“That he does,” the other agreed.

“Sleeps with it.”

“Disgusting really.”

Draco curled his lip in disgust as his dinner vanished and dessert showed up. 

“Draco, uh, could we discuss the rat later?” Harry asked, looking uncomfortable. Draco found it odd Harry hadn’t instantly latched onto the fact his innocent godfather was rotting in prison. 

Draco deflated. 

There was much to plan, much to figure out. 

What had he been thinking? 

“Here eat some pudding. It’ll make you feel…more sane. You’re really not acting like yourself.”

“I know. Sorry. I just…” Draco thought for a moment. “My father is going to be so mad.”

Harry’s eyes went wide.

“Oh god,” one of the twins breathed. 

They both looked at one another. For the first time since Draco had sat down, they didn’t look at him with distaste. They almost looked like they were pitying him. 

“Sucks to be you, mate,” one of them offered.

“Indeed,” Draco agreed, shoving something into his mouth. “I don’t even know how to tell him. Dear Father, Remember when you told me to make the family proud— well, oops. I failed. Sorry to disappoint you in your never ending battle to turn me into a prat. Let Mum know I’m more like her jail bound cousin.  The Hat told me. Multiple times. Love, Draco.”

He’d spoken the last part in a sarcastic drawl (his classic tone). While before, no one would have laughed (or believed what he’d just said), the whole table that heard him burst out in laughter. And not at him, they were laughing with him, as he thought what he’d just said was, in fact, funny. 

As long as he didn’t actually say it to his father. 

“You might be okay, Malfoy,” one of the twins said, pointing a fork at him. 

“Maybe. If you can prank, maybe,” the other said.

Prank?

He stared at Harry for a moment, who shrugged. Draco hadn’t really done a lot of pranking, just bullying Potter mostly. And Longbottom. Grudgingly, though, the Twins pranked well, especially their all out war against Umbridge fifth year. Smiling, Draco figured some of his allowance might be used to try to out prank the Twins. 

Might as well have fun now that he was a Gryffindor. His days of fun were numbered. As soon as he went home for the first time, he’d more than likely be beaten within an inch of his life for failing to honor his family by putting himself into Slytherin. 

Oddly, Draco didn’t even care. He ate more pudding. 


	10. Letter From the Past

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

The red was going to take some getting used to. It exploded all over the place, loud and proud. It was dark outside Gryffndor Tower, but Draco had a feeling of warmth and comfort upon entering through the entrance hole due to the soft orange light the whole room was bathed in. (This might have added to the overall redness.) The large Common Room was filled with squashy looking couches and chairs, all red and gold. The huge fireplace was roaring, making the cold tower warm and toasty. While not as fancy and posh as the Slytherin Common Room, the place felt more at ease and welcoming. Even with the over abundance of red. At least it wasn’t clown red, but a more muted shade.  

Draco followed the other first years up the stairs to their room. The room was also rather warm, though it not as private at the dormitories in Slytherin. There were no privacy walls between the beds. In the center of the room was a stove, which warmed the room. Draco spotted his black trunk at the end of the room. He walked towards it and sat down on the bed. At least there were curtains around the beds, just like in Slytherin. That would allow some privacy. He noted Harry had the bed across from his. Longbottom was in the center bed on the other side, Thomas at the other end of the room. The Irish kid had the bed next to Draco. 

He listened to the sounds of the others as they settled in and got ready for the night. Draco was about to begin to unpack his night things from his trunk when he spotted a letter sitting on his bedside table, propped up against the lamp. It was addressed to him in formal looking handwriting he recognized as Atlanta’s. 

Atlanta’s handwriting from the future. Her current handwriting was still somewhat childish. 

The words the Hat had said to him earlier rushed back into his mind. 

Taking shallow breaths, Draco turned the letter over and saw the seal on the back. It looked old and it wasn’t a seal he knew. It was an eagle and a snake, along with a wand with sparks issuing out of it. Carefully, he broke the seal and pulled out the note, which was written on Muggle paper, not parchment. 

Draco snorted.

 

_31 August 1979_

 

_Viaggiatrice,_

_Hope this finds you well and where ever the hell you wanted to be. I’d like to let you know, when you sent yourself to the past, you sent me too. Thanks. (No, seriously, thank you— the past three years have been a blast in a half. Honest.)_

_So, Gandolf and I theorized what you’d done to throw me backwards over the years, concluding you just sent your memories, soul and magic back into the past, not your body. We don’t know how, but you sent me (body and all) to September 1976. We’ve no clue why or how you did this, nor do we care. Well, I don’t care, because I’m dead. I’m not sure why Gandolf gave up. He might not have, but he won’t meddle with you. Unless you do something REAL STUPID. So, here’s some advice on time meddling:_

_Time can be rewritten, but there_ **_are_ ** _fix points in time. Those cannot change. Trust me. Tragically, it’s almost impossible to_ **_TELL_ ** _what is a fix point. All you can do is try your best to alter things for the better and cross your fingers. If it’s fixed, it won’t change. Somehow, it’ll revert to how it worked out in the first place._

_I don’t know how my being in the late seventies really effected things where ever the hell you went, but I assume you might have a few different memories. This is my theory: since you are sending yourself to yourself, you will already have the altered memories if they effect you, since you are sending memories, magic and a soul to yourself. It might help if you read_ Time Traveling Souls _by Hans Tempidio. He is not as insane as people think._

_Here is a list of things I’ve done during my stay in the late 70s:_

_1\. Already found that thing Potter was looking for in that strange room on the seventh floor._

_2\. I’ve invented spells that you’ve never heard of, sorry. Might have to pay attention in class. (Insert maniacal, evil laughter here.)_

_3\. I saved someone who was supposed to die._

_4\. Stick to the timeline you remember as close as you can. Don’t change too much. Fixed events, remember. Example: no matter how many times I told a certain someone not to go dark, he went dark. No matter what I did. Fixed event._

_On the matter fixed events: watch the rat, but don’t do anything to him till Padfoot busts out, got it? That is, if he’s in Jail in the first place. See date for why I don’t know. I might have managed to get through his thick skull, but he is a hot head. He’s so blastedly (I know that’s not a word, but it works here) stubborn.  Also, I am sure a certain event is way too fixed in time and space to alter, thus Padfoot’s dumbness might also be._

_Back to my list._

_5\. Tom. I don’t know how to really explain Tom, but he is trapped in my flat for the foreseeable future. We couldn’t figure anything out about him when we discovered him in the attic. Or created him in the attic. Potions and magical, creepy stalker sketch book accident. Tom might be able to explain better than I can about his “being” or whatever. He’s at my flat. Moony will know._

_6\. I am strange. I assume I’ll still be a little off, so I’ll help you out if you need something done and can’t exactly say why. Also, Luna will help you. She’ll_ **_KNOW._ **

_7\. Don’t tell me about Moony. I’ve got to figure it out for myself. Hopefully, it won’t be as over dramatic as it was the first time around. (Though, Padfoot is highly overdramatic…so it might be.)_

_8\. Don’t over or under estimate Batman. (I sure hope you figure that nickname out, I’m pretty sure you’ll guess the others from context.) He’s not what he appears to be. He is angry and bitter, but he’d got an ace in his pocket, a weak point that I don’t believe ever goes away._

_9\. I’m dead. I won’t go into detail on my death at the moment, you’ll find out later. I don’t blame you for anything. This letter was entrusted on my death to Gandolf with instructions to give it to you when you did something that didn’t strike him as normal._

_So, so long and thanks for the time travel._

_Love,_

_Adrasteia_

 

“Draco? Are you okay?”

Harry’s voice finally broke through to Draco and he realized he was sitting on his bed in his new home, in his new house and he had tears falling down his cheeks. 

The Atlanta Black he’d read about on the newspaper clippings he’d found as a child was the one he’d known growing up in the first timeline. 

The Hat knew about her. 

Draco’s method of time travel had somehow sent her back. 

She must have been the one screaming his name moments before he’d found himself back in his eleven-year-old body. 

Atlanta had died. The original version, the one from his primary past, had died. She went missing around the same his cousin Regulus. No, not missing, she was dead. She knew she was going to die, so she wrote the letter. 

Draco frowned, remembering what his mother had said about Atlanta the First and her cousin. He looked over the letter again, noticing she failed to mention Regulus— unless Regulus was Tom. 

That didn’t make any sense. Tom was a product of a freak accident. 

Harry shook his shoulder. Jerking up, Draco found Harry looking worried.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I got a letter from an old friend who died,” Draco managed to choke out. “It’s nothing really.”

Harry frowned, unsure what to say. Draco folded the letter back up and put it back in the envelope. Harry fretted in front of him for a moment.

“It’s fine. Really. I…I’m glad I know. She was, uh, missing,” Draco managed to explain. “For a long time.” 

Draco’s emotions were in a whirl. He’d sent Atlanta back in time. She had died. She’d written him a letter. He’d clearly done something to get Dumbledore’s attention at some point.

Well, he had sorted into Gryffindor. What Malfoy did that? 

The Time Traveling kind. 

The Hat had said he’d changed the past in ways he’d yet to understand. Looking back at the letter, he began to wonder if she’d managed to change more than he’d realized passed his memories. He was only one person and he had not had contact with most of the people she’d mentioned. Well, at least he did not think he had. 

He had a lot of questions. His head hurt. And Harry was still staring at him. 

“Harry, it’s really fine. Go to bed,” Draco assured, his voice evening out. He put his pureblood mask on and stood up slowly. “It was a shock. She was old.”

Harry nodded. Looking over his shoulder a few times, Harry made his way over to his bed and closed the curtains. The other boys all began to quiet down. Draco got ready for bed. He crashed into the bed, not bothering to draw the curtains.  

Draco’s mind was a hurricane. Things were blowing around too fast for him to grip onto. Memories were raining down at him so hard it hurt. The haunting image of the girl with the dark reddish brown hair and green grey eyes flooded his mind. Grasping onto it like it was a life preserver, he studied it. The girl looked similar to the Atlanta, but different in so many little ways no one would think they were the same person. 

She had been disguised. 

He lay in bed, feeling rotten for a long time. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, so Draco rolled out of his bed and decided to write his mother The Letter and break the news to her he’d wound up in Gryffindor. Then, he’d start trying to decode Atlanta’s code names for everyone. 


	11. The Cunning Gryffindor

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

The next morning and far earlier than she had hoped, Narcissa spotted the handsome eagle owl flying towards her. 

“Aries!” she greeted as the owl landed near her morning tea, extending its leg. “You sure are here early. Did Draco send word last night right after the feast?”

The owl blinked at her. It took off after she detached the letter. She opened the letter and felt her eyes pop out of her skull.

 

_Mother,_

_Gryffindor._

_The Hat informed me I was cunning, sly and ambitious, but my goals wouldn’t be met unless I was brave and reckless. Per the Hat, in my heart I’m rather reckless and brave, as well as loyal and ambitious. It went on to further inform me I was a bit like your cousin. Except for the fact I had a few more Slytherin traits and I’m not a hot head. But I have grand ambitions, but to carry them out, I can’t be in Slytherin, as it would close me off from the rest of the wizarding world. We both know that Slytherins stick together. To be clear: I have nothing against Slytherin and would have been happy there, the Hat did not think this, it thought I’d be better off with the Gryffindors. I will be different than your average Gryffindor, as I think before I run off into danger, due to my Slytherin-ness._

_I had a very_ **_LONG_ ** _conversation. With a Hat._

_The HAT put me in Gryffindor. Please make that clear to Father._

_In other news, a Weasley is in Slytherin._

_Harry is in Gryffindor with me. Evidently the Hat wanted to put Harry into Slytherin, but he went to Gryffindor since I was here. He said he asked the Hat to put him in Gryffindor over Slytherin. I was unaware the Hat worked that way. I have yet to see any Slytherin like tendencies from Harry, but maybe we are more alike than I originally thought?_

_I’m excited to begin classes tomorrow morning. I know I should be in bed asleep, but I was unable to sleep, worrying about your reaction to my sorting into Gryffindor._

_Please don’t be mad._

_Love your devoted son,_

_Draco_

 

Narcissa folded the letter up, slipping into her robes. She remembered the reaction of the Black Family when Sirius sorted into Gryffindor. There had been daily Howlers for months, her aunt’s screaming, hollering voice filling the Great Hall with profanity and hateful words. Sirius was shunned and outcast from his family years before he finally ran away from home at sixteen. Narcissa had taken part in making Sirius’ life harder than need be, but only in front of other family members. In private, she was jealous of him. She saw him interact with his friends, noticed him when he was on his own and he appeared happy. He was free somehow from the restraints she lived within. 

While she did not approve of how he wound up turning his back on his responsibilities as heir, she understood why he had done it. What she regretted was never being able to explain to Regulus why his brother had left. The child had failed to comprehend how his brother could leave him behind as he had, taking all the pressure heir brought with it. Regulus was not cut out for the role as leader of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. 

The position had reverted back to Sirius after the death of Regulus and Uncle Orion as Orion’s actual will had never been found, nor could anyone find anything disinheriting the man, yet what good did that do in the end? Sirius was in Azkaban. The Black family had lost all its power. 

All due to the Dark Lord’s power trip. 

Staring at her now cold tea, Narcissa allowed herself to remember the two Black brothers as they’d been before Hogwarts, before the rise of the Dark Lord. They had been similar when they were children. Mischievous, cunning, and clever. They knew when to become the little princes they were supposed to be, when to bring out the impeccable manners expected of them. 

Except on a few occasions Sirius’s temper got to him and he snapped. 

Regulus never did that. Regulus was more likely to fall silent and do as he was told. 

Narcissa frowned, thinking about poor Regulus. Bellatrix had all but walked Regulus to his death, holding his hand as she pressured him to join the ranks of the Dark Lord. Regulus stood up for the family line, the pureblood believe that they were superior to all. While Narcissa did believe in this, the methods used by the Dark Lord were not the methods best to use to get the wanted result. 

All out fear was not the way to go. Fear caused people to rebel, stand up and fight. 

Narcissa pursed her lips together. She had been thinking often about the past recently. Mostly about Sirius Black ever since Draco had begun to ask all his questions. In all her thinking, she had drawn one conclusion: Sirius was framed by the real spy within the Order. 

Lucius knew who the spy was. Lucius knew the Head of the Ancient and Nobel House of Black wasn’t guilty and was indeed rotting away in Azkaban for no good reason. He, though, refused to speak out for her cousin in order to keep his own butt out of prison. And grow his own realm of influence now that the Black Family was out of the way. 

That blustering fool Cornelius Fudge would never allow Sirius Black to have a fair trial, or ever look into the case further. It would hurt the man’s public image and cause issue with public opinion. Lucius knew this, which was why the few times Narcissa had asked him to look into the matter recently, Lucius had coldly laughed at her. 

She wanted to do something, but simply had no evidence to support her claims about Sirius Black. No one would listen to her without proof and she had no ways to get proof. 

Lucius hoped that if Black remained in jail, the Black fortune would fall to Draco. Narcissa had checked into the matter when Sirius had first gone to jail. The goblins at Gringotts had informed her Draco was not the heir to the Black fortune. They were unable to tell her, but Narcissa knew who Sirius had named his heir: Harry Potter. 

Now, she was sure of it. There was no way Sirius had gone Dark. Harry Potter was also going to be a force to be reckoned with when he came of age. This was why she was more than all right with Draco’s friendship with the child. 

Putting her hand on the letter, Narcissa made her choice. 

Draco would not turn into his father. Draco was showing his true colors. The Sorting Hat was never wrong, never put someone in the wrong house. The Hat always had reasons for placing people where they were placed. Harry’s request to be in Gryffindor did not surprise Narcissa as it had Draco. She had done something similar. 

Narcissa read the letter once more. Reading between the lines, she began to smile. Draco was proud to be different from what was expected out of him. 

Just like Sirius. 

“Lucius?” Narcissa called, gracefully getting to her feet. “I’ve heard from Draco.”

Lucius appeared in the doorway looking as if he did not care. “So?”

“So? You don’t want to know what house he’s in?”

“Any son of mine would be in Slytherin,” Lucius said coldly. 

“Ah. Then he’s not your son,” Narcissa said, raising an eyebrow. “It must be the Weasley, as he’s in Slytherin.” 

There was no way Draco was not his son. He looked like a miniature of Lucius. It was almost tragic how the usually strong traits of the Blacks had failed to appear on the child. They only thing he’d gotten from the Black’s were his stormy grey eyes. 

Lucius frowned. “What did he do?”

“Nothing. The Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor.”

“WHAT?”

Lucius stormed out of the room. She heard a fire roar and knew Lucius had left. Pulling out a piece of parchment, she quickly wrote a letter to the headmaster apologizing for her husband’s behavior. As an after thought, she asked about getting students into Hogwarts, who had not been on the list from birth. She was sure there would not be a problem, but asking was always the proper thing to do rather than assume. 

After she had sent the letter to the headmaster, she began to write letter to Atlanta’s father, Altair Black. The man, if he had gone to Hogwarts, would have been a model Slytherin. The man had great ambitions. He would go to great lengths to acquire these ambitions. Smiling a small smile, she composed to her letter. She dropped hints here and there it’d further Altair’s agenda in Britain if his own daughter attended Hogwarts. What better way to show he was serious about getting to know the society than to send his own child to school there? 

The next letter was to Atlanta’s tutor. Remus Lupin had attended Hogwarts and this was how Atlanta knew so much about it. Since becoming interested in the child, Narcissa had written to Lupin once a month asking him about Atlanta’s education. She did not like Lupin and did not approve of him as a tutor for a pureblood, House of Black witch. Over the years, she’d grudgingly admitted the man was clever and a good teacher. But he was so Gryffindor. 

Narcissa knew Lupin had a soft spot for the child. What Atlanta wanted, she got within reason. Lupin did not spoil the child, but he did let her get away with quite a bit. Narcissa also noted he went to great lengths for the child, as if she was his own. 

If Lupin knew Atlanta wanted to go to his alma mater, he’d work on Circe Hilderbatch to make it happen. Atlanta’s mother was not very involved in the raising of her youngest daughter, but was a powerful and influential witch. From Narcissa’s observations of the head of House of Black, the only person who could change his opinion was his wife. Hilderbatch was a backup in case Altair didn’t act on his own and put Atlanta in Hogwarts. If Lupin suggested anything to the woman in regards to Atlanta, Hilderbatch made sure Altair gave into it. 

Narcissa might not like Circe Hilderbatch, but predictable behavior in this case would come in handy. 


	12. Lessons

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

The whispers were annoying. They followed Harry around the corridors like the plague. Draco did not remember Harry getting this much attention the first time around. It might have been due to the fact he wasn’t hidden behind ugly glasses and was with Draco instead of the gangly Weasel. Especially after his own father’s shouts could be heard coming from the headmaster’s office on the first day of classes. 

Draco about died of mortification. He waited for his father to swoop into one of his classes that first day and drag him bodily from school, but it never happened. 

Harry attempted to make himself as small as possible and hid his scar behind his fringe, but everyone simply _knew_ where Harry was, when he was coming and decided to stare, point and whisper. It even happened when Draco wasn’t with Harry, as Harry tended to get lost. 

Draco thought Harry would manage to stick with him, but every now and then, Draco would turn around and Harry would be missing. Harry would later turn up, scowling and looking bad tempered, followed by a flock of people who were standing on tiptoes and pushing each other over to get a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter. 

“When will it end?” Harry moaned the first morning, trailing Draco in an attempt to hide behind the taller Draco while Draco had his eyes peeled for his father’s head. 

“Once they get over themselves,” Draco said, waiting as the moving staircase was shifting around. 

Harry was torn between his need to fade away and his awe of Hogwarts itself. To distract the boys the first morning, Hermione had rattled off factoids in a constant stream. Draco had never known the number of staircases (there were a hundred and forty two), but had been able to add a few things that _Hogwarts: A History_ chose to leave out, like the stairs that lead somewhere different on Fridays. Harry found out about the staircase with the vanishing stair the hard way, as he fell through it on the way to breakfast on the second morning. 

Peeves also took much joy in the appearance of Harry, singing horrid songs and dropping things on Harry’s head. Draco hated Peeves. He was pointless, as far as Draco could tell. For the life of him, he failed to see why Hogwarts allowed the poltergeist to remain. Another Hogwarts resident Draco had not missed all that much was Argus Filch and his cat Mrs. Norris. Harry ran into the pair on his first morning during one of his Lost periods. Harry decided to try to get through a door on the third floor, the same one Dumbledore had warned the school about. Filch thought Harry was trying to break in and get whatever was hidden in there. He refused to believe that Harry was lost till Professor Flitwick showed up and took Harry off to Charms, where he was supposed to be at the moment. 

“You are hopeless,” Draco muttered to Harry after class was over. “I can’t leave you alone. Come along, Potter.”

Hermione was horrified the Ravenclaws hardly had any classes with the Gryffindors. 

“We only have Charms together!” she cried, horrified as they left their first Charm class. She whirled around and got lost in the crowd. 

“Am I ever going to know my way around?” Harry moaned as Draco and Harry left Charms to head to Transfiguration. 

“Yes. Someday you’ll know more about the castle then most seventh years,” Draco offered. 

Harry snorted.

While Professor Flitwick was a good humor, laid back individual, McGonagall was serious. She announced on the first day her subject matter was hard and was not to be taken lightly. Diving right into the material, Harry paled and blanched as he stared at the complicated notes appearing on the board. He took furious notes, eyeing Draco, who wasn’t taking detailed notes. He had done this before. Draco knew he needed to be careful to keep the guise of an eleven-year-old, but his head wasn’t on the subject matter in the least. His mind kept drifting to the strange letter he’d gotten. By the point in the day Draco reached Transfiguration, he knew his father wasn’t going to pull him out of school, so he was relaxing a little. He hoped his mother would write in the morning and tell him what had happened. He was dead curious to know what the Headmaster had said to his father. 

Draco’s concentration was so off, he failed to make much of a difference in his match that he was supposed to be turning it into a needle. By the end of his first Transfiguration lesson his match was silver, but had no pointy ends.  

He should be able to turn a match into a needle. 

It wasn’t till his third day at Hogwarts, Draco really got to work decoding The Letter. That morning, he’d received a letter from his mother. His mother had explained the Headmaster stubbornly refused to resort Draco, reminding his father he ought to be proud of the son he had, not the one he thought he ought to have. 

Sounded like Dumbledore.

History of Magic was two full hours of nothingness. Perfect time to decode The Letter. Taking advantage of the half sleeping class, Draco pulled The Letter out from his bag. He went straight to the bullet points. 

Having no idea what exactly Potter had been looking for in the Room of Requirement, Draco was glad Atlanta the First found it. While Draco knew the Dark Lord wanted whatever it was and that is was VERY important to the Dark Lord, Draco had been too scared for his own life to pay any attention to what Potter was risking his life for. The fire and flying through the air kind of distracted Draco.

And now, he didn’t need to worry. 

Point two he didn’t care too much about. He’d find out about the spells when they came up in class, or when he needed them. 

He skipped point three as he couldn’t think of anyone who had been dead before that was alive now. Everyone Draco knew to be dead was still dead. Everyone Draco knew to be alive still, was still kicking. 

Draco hated point four. He was a bit perturbed he’d have to stick to the timeline. He didn’t understand. The whole point in traveling back through time was to change things. And her advice to not try to change fixed points, yet not telling him how to know something was fixed? Useless. Grumbling, he quickly moved onto figuring out who the hell Padfoot was. 

While Professor Binn, resident ghost professor, waxed on in a stale tone about something dusty and musty, Draco stared blankly into space. He wanted his guess to be right. Fifteen minutes of thinking, Draco wrote down, 

_Padfoot = Sirius Black._

It made sense. Black turned into a great, big shaggy black dog. Sirius Black was also in jail. Padfoot struck him as a name you’d give a huge dog, so he felt he was safe in his guess. Draco was also sure _Padfoot_ was the word Potter had shouted at Snape fifth year before running off the Ministry. It’d make sense that Potter would be hell bent on saving Black if he was where _it_ was hidden, whatever _it_ exactly was to Potter. 

Draco knew _it_ was a prophecy, as he’d heard the Dark Lord bring it up a few times after his Father had “lost” this prophecy to Potter.  

_Figure out what the prophecy is between P and V._

Draco needed better nicknames for Potter and the Dark Lord. 

Scratching out the letters he’d written, he tried again. All his nicknames for Potter were easy to figure out and horrible. Biting on the end of his quill he gave up after a moment and decided to pick out a name of whatever Binns was waffling about. 

It was tragic that Binns was droning on about Uric the Oddball. 

_Figure out the prophecy between Moldy and Oddball._

Going back to the letter, he stared at point five. He had no clue who (or what) Tom was. The only Tom Draco knew of was the barkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron. It was highly unlikely that was whom Atlanta the First was talking about. 

If Draco was honest with himself, he didn’t five a flying hippogriff about Tom. The only thing in point five that interested him was the fact whoever Moony happened to be knew where her flat was located. Only, he wasn’t sure who Moony was. 

_Research where ATF lived and where The Flat is located._

As he wrote that he realized who Moony was. Remus Lupin was a werewolf. He added a point to write to Lupin. Though, what would he said?

_Dear Lupin,_

_I’m a time traveler and I knew the version of Atlanta Black you knew when you were seventeen. Could you please tell me where her flat is so I can figure out why she felt the need to tell me about the Tom thing?_

_Regretfully still looking like an eleven-year-old,_

_Draco._

Draco held in a snort. Sure, that was going to work. No, he’d figure it out himself and not ask Lupin. Like Lupin would tell him. Draco knew Lupin disliked him, even more so this time around as he’d put up with Draco more often. He had actually taught child Draco for the past three years. And Draco had been a spoiled brat the entire time. 

He didn’t put much thought into points six and seven. Luna Lovegood was a year younger than him and not at school yet. Even without mentioning his time traveler status, he was sure if he did need help, Hermione was his best bet. Lovegood was two knuts short of a sickle.  

Draco would honor her request and let Atlanta figure out who her birth parents were on her own. He wasn’t aware how she had found out last time around. By the time she’d found out, they weren’t close. Draco knew she’d found out only because he happened to run into her in Diagon Alley before he started his fifth year and she’d casually dropped the bomb she’d met her real father. He was busy being the biggest ares alive and didn’t give a damn. Then, later when the news went public, he doubly didn’t care because she was the spawn of two werewolves. 

Point eight. Batman. 

_Who is Batman?_

He had no idea. Snape kind of resembled a bat, or people claimed he was like an overgrown bat. Draco didn’t see it. Could ATF be referring to Snape? 

How did she get wrapped up with everyone? From how his mother talked, Atlanta the First was always around Regulus, a Slytherin. She evidently knew Snape too, but she also seemed to be on very good terms with Sirius Black and Lupin. Draco assumed that neither Black or Lupin liked Snape, if Darco’s assumptions about Snape and James Potter were right. 

Draco put his head in his hands. He was assuming way too much. Raking this fingers through his hair he rolled his head on his neck a moment before tacking the last point.

It made him sick, but he really wanted to know how she’d met her end. She’d clearly planned it out if she’d given the letter to Dumbledore. And why give it to Dumbledore? Why not leave it with Lupin if they were so close he knew where she lived? Batman didn’t know where she lived, nor did Padfoot. And she never once mentioned Regulus. 

Unless Regulus’ nickname was Tom. Regulus was dead, so he could be a ghost. Or whatever Tom was. 

No. That made no sense. Tom was from a potion accident and a sketchbook. 

“What were you doing all period?” Harry asked as they headed to lunch.

“Plotting,” Draco answered. 

“Plotting what? World domination?” Harry asked, mirth in his tone. 

Draco snorted. “Yes. I plan to take over the world with a ghost like being named Tom as my brains and Moony, Padfoot and Batman as my minions.”

“Batman? The Cape Crusader?”

“You know Batman?”

Harry blinked at Draco as if Draco was the slow one. 

“He’s a comic book hero,” Harry said. “What’s my role?”

“Gate keeper,” Draco said without thinking. He’d ask later what a comic book was. Batman, Cape Crusader didn’t sound much like a funny character’s name. 

“Gate keeper?” Harry asked, sounding incredulous. 

“Yes. You will keep the gate nice and shiny,” Draco offered as they entered the Great Hall. 

Harry gave Draco a look as Draco laughed, throwing his head back. Harry took this moment to snatch the bit of parchment Draco had been writing on. Draco stopped laughing, trying to get it back from Harry, but Harry darted around Draco, actually managing to use his diminutive height to his advantage to get away. By the time Draco caught up, Harry had read it. 

“Why would you make up nicknames for Sirius Black and Remus Lupin? Isn’t that the name of Atlanta’s tutor?” Harry asked as Draco slumped into his seat next to Harry. 

“Yes. I like codes and stuff,” Draco offered lamely. “I was bored. So, I made up names.” 

“Oh? So who would Moldy and Oddball refer to?”

Draco felt his cheeks flush a bit and hurried to put food onto his plate. Harry waited for a moment before sighing and handing the parchment back to Draco. He didn’t mention the parchment again and began to talk about how he thought having a ghost as a professor would have been much cool than it was in reality. 

&*&*&*&*&*&*&

Draco searched high and low for the book Atlanta the First had mentioned in her letter on time travel, but failed to find it. He decided it must be in the Restricted Section. No professor was going to let an eleven-year-old first year into the Restricted section. He’d wait till next year. Gilderoy Lockhart would sign anything. 

By the time Friday rolled around, the only progress Draco had made was that finding out an AD Black owned properties in Glasgow and somewhere near a Loch Monaghan in Pitlochry, Perth and Kinross, Scotland. Both properties made his head swim and try as he might, he was never able to locate either location on a map. While Draco knew he _knew_ where Glasgow was located, every time he looked at a map to see where AD Black might have lived (even if he had no idea where to begin) he suddenly found himself needing to do something else. Or he simply forgot why he was looking at a map of Scotland. 

It happened at least seventeen times before Draco gave up.

“You look frustrated,” Harry offered on Friday morning. It was the first morning Harry had managed to arrive in the Great Hall on time. Draco got up too early for Harry, hence why Harry had spent most mornings either starving and lost, or starving because he’d shown up too late to eat.  

“I am. Remember that odd parchment?” Harry nodded slowly before Draco went on, “Well, I’ve made progress with some of things. But, I need to know where this— this flat is. I can’t figure out because every time I try, I forget what I’m doing or I remember something else pressing. I think it’s charmed to be forgettable.”

Harry’s face lit up. “Magic can do that?”

Draco gave Harry an incredulousness look. “I keep forgetting you’re new here. Of course it can. It’s magic. Hermione will happily explain the charm if I ever figure out what it is. It seems to work how Muggle repellent charms work on Muggles. I don’t know of one that acts that way on wizards.”

“If I find what? What charm are you talking about?” Hermione asked, sitting down in the open spot across from the boys, arriving for her morning social time with the pair. From her expression as she glanced at Harry, she was pleased he had actually arrived in a timely manner for the first time. 

“A charm that keeps things hidden. Like houses,” Harry offered. “Draco’s trying to find a mysterious flat.” 

“Oh! I’ve heard of those!” Hermione exclaimed, her brown eyes lighting up. “I read a book recently where a spell like that was listed. I can’t remember— oh! The Fidelius Charm! You need a Secret Keeper for that. A Secret Keeper is a person who the secret is hidden inside of. They are very complicated. But they’d hide whatever you wanted hidden. No one could find it.”

“This is different. I have a rough idea, as I know for a fact I read it, but when I go to look at a map, I suddenly forgot what I’m doing, or suddenly I’m doing something else. It’s weird and not, well, normal. I’ve never heard of a charm like that other than the Muggle Repellent charm. And that doesn’t work on wizards.”

Hermione, eyes still overly bright, jumped up and without another word, hurried out of the Great Hall.

Harry looked baffled, turning to Draco to explain their friend’s bizarre behavior. Draco rolled his eyes, pulling out his parchment.

“She usually leaves without saying goodbye,” Draco said. “She’s more than likely going to research applications of Muggle Repellent charms before her first class. To see if they can be applied to wizards.”

Harry cringed. Draco, meanwhile, wrote:

_Moony Secret Keeper?_

It made sense. She said Moony knew where the flat was located. What still did not make sense was his reaction when he looked at Glasgow on a map. 

Draco shoved the parchment into his book and began to eat. As he was busy shoving porridge into his mouth, the morning post showed up. The first day this had happened, Harry had jolted so bad, he slopped his breakfast down his front. Draco assumed the barrage of a hundred or so owls was a sight to see. This morning, for the first time, Draco spotted Hedwig, Harry’s snowy white owl. The owl sat down in front of Harry, sticking her leg out and looking somewhat smug about her first school delivery. Harry took the note and tore it open. As he read, a small smile painted his face.

“Hagrid wants me to visit. Wanna come with me?” Harry asked, pulling a quill out of his bag. He jotted down an answer. 

Draco didn’t really want to go, but agreed. He knew he’d have to deal with the half giant, as it didn’t look as if Harry was going to give up on the man who’d told him he was a wizard.


	13. Enter Greasy Batman

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

Draco had questioned often over the summer why Professor Snape hated Potter with such a passion. He entertained the animosity steamed from the fact Potter was the cause of disappearance of the Dark Lord for thirteen years, but that train of thought did not sit right with Draco. Snape was a faithful Death Eater (he’d killed Dumbledore), but Snape was a Slytherin. Self preservation was second nature. When Snape first met Potter, the Dark Lord was vanquished, yet not fully believed to be quashed for good by many. It was in Snape’s nature to keep his ear to the ground for whispers of the Dark Lord, yet keep his act going of good reformed Death Eater. Snape managed to keep himself out of Azkaban by cozying up to Dumbledore. It made no sense to be “out to get Potter” when it was known to anyone with a half working eye, the Headmaster had a favorite student. 

Clearly Snape hated Potter. He made the kid’s life hard as possible. Draco wished to spare Harry. (He liked Harry. He still didn’t like Potter. They were _different_.) 

No, this aversion was not tied with anything having to do with the Dark Lord. Draco thought this unknown loathing found its seeds from Snape’s clear dislike for Potter’s (and thus also Harry’s) father. Snape did not seem like the sort to let some dead man bother him, but on numerous occasions Snape compared Potter to his father and never in a favorable manner. 

Standing outside the dungeons on Friday morning before their first Potions lesson, Draco waited along side Harry. The door to the classroom banged open and Professor Snape proceeded fluidly into the hallway, his black robes billowing around him in a swirl of black fabric. His eyes zeroed in on Harry right away. Harry failed to notice due to the fact he was too busy attempting to hide from various people ogling as they walked passed. Snape quickly swept his eyes to Draco and a tiny frown appeared between his eyebrows. It vanished as fast as it appeared. 

“In,” was the quiet order.

The class scurried inside and quickly seated themselves.  

Snape began the class by taking roll. He paused at Harry’s name, like quite a few teachers did. McGonagall had given Harry a small smile. Flitwick had squeaked and toppled off his stand of books. Professor Sprout beamed at Harry, then lamented he’d not sorted into Hufflepuff. Quirrell, though, had screamed when he’d read Harry’s name off the scroll. Draco couldn’t figure out if it was a scream of fear or outrage. 

The only professor who had not reacted was Binns, owing to the fact he never took roll. Draco would bet his trust fund Binns had no idea who Harry Potter was to begin with, as Harry was alive. Binn only knew about dead things. 

Due to the fact Severus Snape was alive, he reacted to Harry Potter. In his own unique manner, of course. 

“Ah, yes. Harry Potter.” Snape looked up, black eyes on Harry. “Our new— _celebrity_.”

Snape spat out the last word. The Slytherins quietly snickered, Nott the loudest. The whole group of snakes inched forward on their stools, gearing up for what promised to be good show. Snape was out to get Harry Potter. It was clear from that one word spat out, there would be no special treatment for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry shrunk into himself under Snape’s dark, penetrating gaze. Draco elbowed Harry in the side, giving him a look. Harry had no clue what Draco was trying to communicate, mostly because he was unable to look away from Snape’s cold, empty, never ending tunnel like eyes. 

Snape broke eye contact suddenly, sweeping off to scare someone else. Harry blinked a few times, looking somewhat dazed. Draco frowned. No more bullying? Hadn’t Snape immediately humiliated Harry last time around? Draco could not remember, but something was making him uneasy. 

When Snape had completed roll, he began talking in a voice that was hardly above a whisper. Snape had a knack for keeping a classroom silent without much effort. Draco pulled out his quill and parchment, elbowing Harry to do the same. Harry scrambled, almost sending his ink well off the table. Draco caught it before it crashed to the dungeon floor. 

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe it’s magic. I don’t expect you will understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses,” Snape whispered passionately in a low tone as he swept through the classroom. He came to rest at the front of the room, his dark eyes scanning. “I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death— if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually teach.”

Ringing silence followed the speech. Draco sat up a bit straighter and glanced to Harry, who was writing down snip its of what Snape had said, a curious look on his face. 

“Potter!”

Harry startled, knocking his ink well off the table again. Draco barely caught it before it could smash. Snape swooped down, looming above the table. Harry stared up at the Potions Master. The brilliant green eyes grew wider as Snape leaned in to the point his large, hooked nose was almost touching Harry’s.  

“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Draco jotted down the question, his quill the only noise in the room. 

“Well?” Snape demanded.

Harry bit his lip. He scooted back on his stool, then said, “Er, those are both used in…sleeping potions. Oh! They’re both in the Draught of Living Death.”

Harry looked a bit uneasy after he finally gave an answer, as it was clear Snape was not expecting a response, let alone the correct one. If anything, Snape’s glare worsened, though he did back up a bit. 

“How did you know that?”

“I read the book. Twice,” Harry replied, frowning. He glanced at Draco, accusation in his eyes. Draco winced. His plan had been for Snape to go easier on Harry, not be suspicious. 

“Let’s try another one. See if you can keep this up. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Draco wrote that one down as well while Harry stared at the tabletop, his eyes going back and forth. 

“Is that the stone that might save you from most poisons? It’s from the…stomach of…”

“Ah, don’t know, do you?”

Harry shrunk a bit. “No, sir.”

“Goat.” Silence followed for a bit. Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, backing up further from the table. “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry blinked a few times. 

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Harry asked, his voice going a bit high at the end. 

Snape glowered. “Correct. Do you know the other name it goes by?”

“No, sir.”

“For your information, Potter, it’s also known as aconite. Why are you not writing this down?”

Harry startled, as did the rest of the class. There was mad rush to write down everything that had been said, as only Draco had the foresight to write it down. Harry, meanwhile, looked like he had just been drowned in the Black Lake. 

Snape swept away, his long black cloak opening up and looking like bat wings as he moved back to the front of the room. 

Draco stilled, studying Snape carefully as he turned around and waved his hand at the blackboard. Directions for a simple potion to cure boils appeared. Snape ordered the class to copy it down, rendering Draco’s musing on bats to a standstill.  

Harry and Draco scurried to copy the directions down and get the ingredients. Most of the class was silent as they worked weighing dried nettles and crushing snake fangs. The only voice heard was Snape, as he criticized almost everyone except Draco, who he ignored completely. Draco was half thankful and half upset. 

He missed the praise. 

“You were right,” Harry whispered as he waited for his horned slugs to stew. “He’s scary. He’d be worse if I hadn’t read the book…I think.”

Draco nodded. He was about to respond when acid green smoke and a loud hissing noise filled the room. Draco and Harry turned around to find Longbottom drenched in his failed potion. The Irish kid’s cauldron was twisted into a blob of metal on the table. Students screamed and jumped around as the spilled potion burned holes in the bottom of their shoes. Draco grabbed Harry by the elbow and hauled him upwards before the green potion reached them. The whole class was soon standing on their stools, while Longbottom remained on the ground shaking in his spot, moaning in pain as angry red boils sprang on his exposed skin. 

“Idiot boy!” Snape snarled, waving his wand. Instantly, the potion was cleaned up off the floor, leaving only Neville behind to speak for the failed attempt at curing boils. “I supposed you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Longbottom only whimpered.

“Take him to the Hospital Wing,” Snap snapped. 

The Irish kid grabbed Longbottom. They vanished so fast, for a second Draco thought they’d Apparated out. Snape rounded, eyes falling on Harry. 

“Potter! Why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought you’d make you make yourself look better if he got it wrong? That’s five points from Gryffindor!”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. He looked like he was about to argue, but Draco grabbed his arm and gave it a hard squeeze.

“Not worth it, not worth it,” Draco murmured.

Harry clamped his jaw shut and turned back to the potion. 

Since Harry stubbornly refused to speak to Draco after the Longbottom Incident, they remained silent throughout the remaining brewing time for the boil cure. 

“Why does he hate me so much?” Harry asked quietly after Draco had handed in the potion. 

Draco eyed Snape glowering at the vial with Harry’s name on it. Draco knew the potion was perfect and there was nothing Snape could do except give them full credit and highest marks.  

“I told you. I think it’s because he didn’t get on with your dad,” Draco whispered back.

Snape strode away from his desk to rant at two Gryffindor girls, who had caused their potion to turn to sludge. While Snape berated them, the blonde girl attempted to scrape the sludge out. 

“I feel there is more to it,” Harry muttered.

Draco thought it best to not bring up Snape’s Death Eater sympathies at the moment. Something at the back of him mind began to nag him. He looked at Harry, those abnormally green eyes staring at up at him almost pushing him to reach some sort of conclusion Draco was not aware he could make. Harry blinked, turned away and the cusp of realization left Draco. He shook his head to clear it. 

“Oh, cheer up,” Draco said when he saw the look Harry was still wearing.

The class had gone better than Draco remembered. True, Harry had lost points, but Snape had left him alone for the most part. Harry only got put on the spot twice. While Snape was sure to continue to put Harry on spot throughout his schooling, Draco felt that it wouldn’t be easy to bully Harry this time around. The Draco Factor was working in Harry’s favor. Harry was shaping up to be a good student. While Draco never thought Potter had been exactly stupid, he always felt Potter didn’t apply himself due to the Weasel Factor and basically using Granger’s brain to get around actually studying. The fact Potter excelled above and beyond in certain areas (like Defense Against the Dark Arts) proved Potter wasn’t a moron. 

Potter didn’t apply himself. 

Harry did. 

“Want to see if Hermione wants to meet Hagrid?” Draco asked, hoping to distract Harry, who was still glowering. 

“Does she have time in her schedule?” Harry grumbled. 

Draco pulled out the schedule Hermione had drawn up for him and Harry letting them know where she’d be at certain times of the day. Harry never carried his around with him. Draco only carried his to humor Hermione. He’d never admit it was useful tool to find the young witch. She was a creature of habit and followed her schedule to a tee. 

“Yes. She’s got Friday afternoons free as well. I think only Hufflepuffs and Slytherins have classes Friday afternoons.”

Early start to weekends was something Draco could get used to. 

“Well, how are we— never mind.”

“Library,” Draco laughed, pointing at the Friday afternoon block on the parchment in his hands. Library-Slash-Study Time was written in large block letters for the entire afternoon. 

Together, they went to the library. Hermione was at her usual table, pile of books around her. Draco was sure her plan was to read every single book in the library before graduation in seven years. Twice. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” Draco said smoothly, draping himself on the chair across from her. “Are you enjoying this musty library on this wonderful afternoon?”

Hermione slowly looked up at him. “Did you know that if you can prevent death?”

“Drought of Living Death,” Harry offered.

“No. That makes it appear like you are dead. No _prevent_ death. I read it here,” she said, stabbing the page. “Wizards have made a stone that can make gold and an elixir that will prevent you from dying.” 

“Cool,” Harry breathed. “How do you make it?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t say. I bet it is hard,” Hermione offered, frowning. “I wonder where I can find more information on that?”

“How about you come with us to meet Hagrid?” Harry suggested. 

“Who?”

“Hagrid, he’s my friend,” Harry said, grinning. “He’s the grounds keeper. You saw him the when we got here. He brought us across the lake in the boats.”

“Oh…well, what would we be doing?”

“Just tea. He said he’d have tea,” Harry said.

“Come on, you can read those tomorrow. There’s no classes,” Draco teased.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and softly slugged him, knocking Draco a bit off balance. He recovered quickly, giving her a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“You can help me tomorrow. I’m making headway on finding that charm you were talking about. I found an interesting article on something along those lines by some guy named TR DeVinette.”

“Excuse me?” 

Draco knew that name, yet had no idea why. 

“He’s this recluse who writes articles on magical theory. He used to develop charms. Really complexed ones,” Hermione went on, packing up her books. “He wrote an article about twelve years ago on using the theory behind the Muggle Repellent spell to protect homes from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” 

“Did it name the spell?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. But, I’m sure they developed a spell for it. Almost all his papers that got publish lead to the development of new spells. The man is a genius!”

Draco took his parchment out of his pocket and wrote down what Hermione had told him. The moment he wrote down the name TR DeVinette he remembered where he’d seen it.

“Oh!”

“What?” Hermione asked as she put the books she didn’t need on the cart for the librarian. 

“I remember where I saw that name,” Draco breathed. He stared at the name he’d written down. 

_TR DeVinette_

“I bet anything that’s Tom,” he murmured.

“Who is Tom?” Hermione asked.

“Batman?” Harry volunteered. 

Draco wondered if he ought to tell them. He glanced between the two and figured he might as well. He told them about the letter and the fact his friend worked with a TR DeVinette. 

“Who is your friend?”

“She was a family friend,” Draco began. “Er— ”

“The only person TR DeVinette ever worked with was went by the name of AD Black,” Hermione breathed the name. Draco stared at her in question. The girl had a look of pure adoration on her face. 

“Black?” Harry asked. “She related to Sirius Black?”

“No,” Draco said faintly. Turning to Hermione he asked, “You researched AD Black?”

Hermione nodded. “She was the youngest Spellsmith in a century! And she began writing articles with a TR DeVinette after she graduated from Hogwarts. She was an exchange student from America who came for her sixth year and decided to stay. She did a lot for strengthening ward spells during the final years of the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Harry sighed deeply. Hermione caught this but pressed on. 

“Then, she mysteriously vanished in the fall of 1979 and was later declared a causality of the war,” Hermione finished, still looking at Harry. 

“Voldemort killed her?” Harry asked. 

“That is what people assumed,” Hermione said. “How is your friend connected with these people?”

“Well, er, my mother knew Black, being a Black herself,” Draco said, trying to figure out what to exactly tell them. The truth was not going to work in his favor. “She also knew my mother’s favorite cousin. They vanished around the same time. When I got here, this letter was waiting for me. It’s from a different friend, but she knew Black and DeVinette. But, like Black, she’s been missing for years. I guess I got this letter on the confirmation of her death.”

Hermione didn’t look like she bought Draco’s horrible story, but Harry quickly pointed out it was almost time to go to Hagrid’s. As they headed out of the castle, Harry and Hermione kept shooting Draco looks he didn’t like. He knew he couldn’t tell them the truth. First, they’d think he was crazy. Second, first rule of time travel: don’t let people know you are from the future. They will ask questions you don’t want to answer. 

“How did you meet this friend who died?” Hermione asked as they crossed the front lawn. 

“She was around when I was a kid. She always had candy in her pockets,” Draco said. This was true. Atlanta (both of them) always had candy in her pockets. “She liked me, so I guess she left things for me. That’s what was in the letter. She…was eccentric so it’s written in code and I have to figure it out.” 

“Code?” Hermione asked. 

Draco was glad when Hagird’s hut came into view. 

“I’ll show you what I’ve decoded so far,” Draco offered. Showing her his parchment wouldn’t be as dangerous as showing her the actual letter. He’d have to cross off a few things about current events. 

This satisfied Hermione, who began talk about the stone she’d read about that afternoon. 


	14. Hagrid's Hut

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I don't own it. Parts of dialogue plucked from _Philosopher's Stone_ by JKR because there wasn't another way to write it.**

* * *

As the trio approached the hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Draco let a small smirk creep across his lips. While Care of Magical Creatures had not been one of his favorite classes, no one could argue they were boring. Well, except after the few times Draco had caused Hargid to loose his nerve and they wound up studying Flobberworms. 

Harry knocked on the door and frantic scrambling from inside and several booming barks sounded. Hermione stumbled backwards, looking alarmed. Draco took a few steps back, while Harry did not seem aware there was a gigantic dog on the other side making an all out effort to break the door down. 

A wimpy dog in reality, if memory served correctly. 

“Back, Fang,” Hagrid ordered from inside.

Draco frowned, remembering what had happened first year when Draco had learned the dog wasn’t exactly the best guard dog. A shiver ran down his spine. He’d never thought about what they had seen that night in the forest during their detention after the Dragon Debacle.

Realization whacked him in the head hard and it felt like someone had put a Disillusionment Charm on him.  

It’d been Quirrellmort. (A clever combination Qurriell and Voldemort. Okay, not clever, but it’d do for the moment.) That thing drinking unicorn blood was Quirrell. The thing that had come at Potter when Draco had turn tailed and ran for it. Along with the dog. 

Why was he drinking unicorn blood? 

“Uh, Draco, you coming?” Harry asked.

Draco snapped to attention. Harry was standing in the doorway to the house, holding it open for Draco. Draco hurried into the house. He gave Hagrid a brief nod and smile as Hagrid restrained the massive black boar hound, who was struggling to get away to greet Harry. Harry shut the door and Hagrid let go of the dog.

“Make yerselves at home,” Hargrid offered, gesturing to the table. 

Fang made a beeline for Harry and started licking his ears, tail thumping all over the place. 

Draco carefully followed Hermione over to the table and took a seat. Hermione eyed the dog, looking torn between amusement and worry that Fang would crush Harry. 

If the dog’s nature was different, crushing Harry would have been a likelihood. Licked to death was more likely than crushed to death with Fang. 

“Oh, this is Hermione,” Harry managed, pushing the dog’s massive head away. He scrambled over to the table and slid in next to Draco. “And you remember Draco?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hagrid said. “Nice seein’ yeh again…Draco.”

Hagrid looked bemused. Draco figured the man had never imagined a Malfoy would appear in his one room house among the hams and pheasants that were decorating the ceiling. 

“And you, Hagrid,” Draco greeted. 

Hagrid pulled a massive copper kettle off the open fire place as it began to whistled and poured tea for the three. He began to ask Hermione questions, which she excitedly answered. Hagrid set out rock cakes, which Draco thought might actually have been rocks— they were solid lumps. Harry pretended to be enjoying the cakes, as did Hermione. Draco was torn between announcing they were horrible and ignoring the cakes all together. 

Hermione rehashed all their first week’s lessons for Hagrid, with Harry adding bits and pieces here and there. Fang decided Draco was his new best friend and rested his massive head in his laps and drooled all over his robes. How the massive dog fit under the table was beyond Draco. 

After spending a whole half hour with the massive, drooling head on his lap trying his best not to frown, sneer, or snarl, Draco was soaked. He told himself it was only drool. It would wash out. He could cast a cleaning charm the minute he left. It would be fine. 

Do. Not. Panic.

Do. Not. Act. Like. A. Prat. 

“Then Filch thought I was trying to get into that out of bounds room on the third floor.”

“What were you doing up there, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Draco looked up from where he’d been attempting to get Fang’s head off his now asleep legs.

“I was lost.”

“Understandable bein’ first years. Filch is an old git,” Hagrid grumbled. “An’ as fer that cat, Mrs.  Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her— Filch puts her up ta it.” 

Draco managed to pushed the sleeping dog’s head off his lap. There was a loud thump as the dog landed on the floor. Frag woke up, shook his head, and wandered over to a pillow near the massive bed. The dog flopped over as if he were boneless. He was back to sleep instantly. 

Oh, to be a dog. 

Hagrid noticed the state of Draco’s robes and turned red. He began to apologize, sputtering incoherently. 

“It’s fine,” Draco announced. “I can clean it. I know cleaning spells.”

Making sure to cast them verbally, he cleaned his robes. Hermione’s eyes were shining when Draco looked up. 

“How did you learn those?” she asked. “I thought those weren’t taught till third or fourth year?”

“Mother likes me clean,” Draco answered. He scrambled for a reason he could cast them so well. “I had to practice with a practice wand to get the movements. I’ve only cast it a few times since I’ve been able to use my wand.”

This satisfied both Harry and Hagrid. Harry began to rehash Snape’s lesson. Hermione frowned a bit, but decided to leave Draco and his amazing cleaning spells alone for now. Sighing, Draco leaned back in the chair. He knew he’d have to teach her later how to do them properly. Not that it would be terrible. If he had to give up Snape praising him, he could settle for Hermione’s. 

He allowed a small smirk to grow across his face. 

“But he seemed to really hate me. Like hard core hate,” Harry whined. 

“Rubbish!” Hagrid insisted. “Why should he?”

“Draco said it was because of my dad,” Harry tried. 

Hagrid didn’t meet Harry’s eye. He was looking anywhere but at Harry.

“Why’d yeh say that?” Hagrid asked. 

“Er—well, Draco mentioned they were at school at the same time and didn’t get along,” Harry tried. 

“It was a logical assumption,” Draco said. “Professor Snape, while brilliant, strikes me as— ” 

“As someone who’d be singled out to be bullied?” Hermione offered.

“Yes. I have great respect for him. He’s my godfather,” Draco quickly added. “But, he does appear have a grudge against Harry.”

Hermione tutted. Turning around, she drew Hagrid’s attention to the unicorn tail hair on the wall behind her and began to ask him what he used all the unicorn tail hairs for. Hagrid, clearly happy for the subject change, launched into a very verbose explanation on all the wonders of unicorn tail hair. Hermione, who was like a sponge, soaked up all his uses and actually began to take notes. Where she’d hidden a quill, ink bottle and parchment on her person was a mystery. Draco allowed his attention to drift, stacking the rock cakes on his plate on top of one another. 

“Hey, look at this,” Harry whispered, offering a piece of newspaper to Draco. 

Draco reached for it, his eyes scanning the small article a moment before he read: 

 

**_GRINGOTT BREAK-IN LATEST_ **

**_Investigations continues into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches, who or whom remains unknown._ **

**_Gingotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day._ **

**_“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon._ **

 

Draco looked up at Harry. 

“That’s the day we met.”

Harry nodded. Harry seemed to know something Draco didn’t, though, because those emerald green eyes were shining in a manner Draco didn’t like. 

“Hagrid,” Harry interrupted, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It could have been happening while we were there!”

Draco expected Hagrid to roll his eyes, or something along the lines, to discourage Harry from this line of thinking. 

Clearly, Hagrid did not know Harry well enough to realize Harry would go bouncing after whatever mystery he thought was there. Hagrid’s reaction of not meeting Harry’s eye, grunting and offering another rock cake, only made those annoyingly green eyes shine brighter. 

Hermione, confused and wanting more information on the uses of unicorn tail hair, got Hagrid’s attention back easily. This, unfortunately, did not deter Harry. 

“Hagrid emptied a vault while we were there,” Harry whispered to Draco, pointing at the line that read about the vault that had been broken into being emptied earlier that day. 

Somehow the rock cakes Draco had never eaten sunk to the bottom of his stomach. Looking back up at Harry, Draco knew by the look in the other’s eyes he’d get Harry’s full theory after they’d left Hagrid’s hut. Harry was vibrating with excitement now he a mystery to solve. 

No wonder the kid wanted to be an Auror. Not only would he be a Dark wizard catcher, he’d be solving mysteries for a living. 

As the trio walked back to the castle to eat dinner weighed down by all the rock cakes they’d failed to eat, Harry told the tail of his first trip to Gringotts. 

“It was vault seven hundred and thirteen and it had just this grubby little package in it,” Harry said in a low tone as Draco and Hermione extended their heads towards Harry’s. “It has to be what the thieves were after. What are the odds?”

“Well, Gringotts is a rather large bank. Any number of vaults could have been emptied that day,” Hermione pointed out. “And what would anyone want with a tiny little package?”

“Size doesn’t equate power,” Draco said in a dead tone as they climbed the steps to the Entrance Hall.

“Oh, you’re right,” Hermione breathed. “I wonder what could have been in the package?”

Draco bit back a groan. “Whatever it was, the thieves didn’t get it. It’s safe.”

“Where? Hagrid said he was picking up the package for Dumbledore,” Harry said as they crossed the Entrance Hall. “Where do you think it is now?”

“Dumbledore? Well, it’ll be safe,” Hermione said, finality in her tone. “He’s a powerful wizard. He’ll keep whatever it was safe.”

Harry mulled this over as they reached the Great Hall. 

“Safest places are Hogwarts and Gringotts,” Draco offered.

What was he doing? He needed to shut up and stop encouraging Harry. Every time Potter went walking off into danger, he wound up almost dead. Draco did plan to inform Dumbledore there was a problem with one of his professors at some point. Granted, Draco figured Dumbledore ought to have NOTICED something was fishy with Quirrell, but the man was batty. Draco also failed to have any proof that any of his professors would believe.

But, should someone have noticed Quirrell’s odd behavior by now? Or felt it. Or smelled it. Quirrell smelled funny, like sour garlic. Draco doubted if he walked up to McGonagall and said, “I think there’s something wrong with Quirrell. He smells funny,” anything would happen other than her telling him to mind his own business. Or not to talk about his professor that way. 

He looked eleven. He was also Draco Malofy. Maybe he ought to use his favorite comeback? 

Like his father would do anything. 

“Hagrid said the same thing,” Harry agreed. 

“Well, there you have it. Clearly Gringotts wasn’t safe for the package, so it’s here now,” Draco announced, failing to realize what he’d just said.

Did he take Moron Potion at some point today?  

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, grabbing Draco’s sleeve. Her brown eyes were wide and shining. “It’s on the third floor.”

Insert lots of curse words that an eleven-year-old shouldn’t know. 

“Oh,” Harry breathed, looking grave. “How did Dumbledore know it would be taken and to move it?”

“I don’t know, but good thing he did. Whatever it is, I don’t think I want a Dark wizard having it,” Hermione said.

“Well, we solved the mystery,” Draco said, a little too high and loud. “Let’s eat dinner.”

He tore his sleeve from Hermione and rushed off for the Gryffindor table, hoping Harry would follow and not want to discuss the package further. Draco really didn’t want to venture off to the third floor Charms corridor. And he did not want to have a close call with the Dark Lord. That Slytherin instinct was still strong: save his own butt. 

For the first time, and more than likely not the last, Draco doubted the Hat’s wisdom in putting him in Gryffindor. Brave was not a word he associated with himself. 

As Draco heaped food on his plate he knew he wouldn’t be eating, Harry slid into the seat next to him. Longbottom hadn’t returned to normal, so Harry began to talk with the Irish kid and Thomas. (Draco really needed to remember the Irish kid’s name.) Harry and Irish Kid began talking with Thomas about something called foot bawl or something, leaving Draco to his own thoughts. He glanced up at Harry, knowing he didn’t want Harry to come across the Dark Lord. 

Closing his eyes for a moment, he realized what the Hat was getting at by being brave in Draco’s sense. To further his own goal, he’d be brave by sticking by Harry, no matter what half brained, completely stupid situation the boy got himself into. Draco would be brave by thinking for Harry when Harry failed to think before rushing into danger. While each house had it’s less desired traits, the rashness and lack of forethought in Gryffindors was ridiculous. It was almost as they all lacked brains sometimes. 

At least Draco wasn’t loosing his Slytherin traits by being surrounded by lions all day long.  

Reopening his eye, he stared at Harry, who was using his fingers to demonstrate something to Irish Kid. He placed two fingers on the table top and made a kicking motion. 

Harry was eleven. 

Why should an eleven-year-old have to deal with this crap? It was almost as if someone was plotting against Harry Potter.

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course someone was plotting against Harry Potter. The same person who’d been out for him since before the kid was born. 


	15. Flying High

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR and I don’t own it. **

* * *

 

The notice for flying lessons was up on Monday. Harry hurried to the notice board, the noise and massive crowd in front of it attracting his attention. He slithered his way through the crowd, managing to use his diminutive height to his advantage for once. Harry had never paid much attention to the fact he was shorter and skinnier than most boys his age till he began to hang around with Draco, who seemed to get taller each day. 

Harry anxiously read the notice on the bulletin board. Flying lessons would start on Thursday.

The next words made Harry groan. 

Lessons would be with Slytherin. 

Pushing his way to the entrance hole and out, Harry quickly made for the Great all, managing to only go down the wrong set of stairs once that morning. He entered the Great Hall with more than enough time to eat. Draco was seated at the table in his usual spot, piece of toast in one hand, newspaper in the other. Shaking his head at the miniature adult image Draco gave off, Harry hurried over and sat down. 

“Did you see the notice this morning?”

Draco looked over at him, his grey eyes locking onto Harry. “Yes. Shocking business with Fanged Frisbees biting off fingers?” Upon seeing Harry’s face, he went on, “Oh, did you mean the notice of the first Hogsmeade date? We can’t go to third year.” Harry let out a groan. “Not that one. Let’s see. You don’t need a tutor for Divination, as you do not take it. You aren’t interested in buying a cat, or let’s hope you’re not. I doubt you are interested in the notice for lessons on painting your nails from Lavender for fifteen sickles an hour…”

“Flying!”

“Oh, that notice. Yes, I saw that. Aren’t you excited?” 

“Well, yeah. But…” Harry squirmed a bit, reaching for a piece of toast. “I don’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of the Slytherins. I mean, I don’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of anyone…but…”

Draco set the newspaper down and gave Harry a knowing look. It was times like these that Harry got an odd feeling about Draco. As much as he liked Draco and was thrilled he finally had a friend, sometimes Draco seemed _old_. And all-knowing. It made Harry uneasy, because he felt like there was something very important Draco had failed to tell him. It made no sense to Harry, as Draco always answered his questions, sometimes more so than Harry needed.  

There were times Draco seemed simply batty. Like his reaction about Weasley’s rat. And his odd obsession with Sirius Black. Often times, Harry got the distinct feeling Draco was _waiting_ for things to happen. It was like he _knew_ it was going to happen. It was almost difficult to surprise Draco. Yet when things did shock him, his reaction was intense. 

Basically, Draco was strange. Harry had never felt so normal. And that was a feat, as he was a wizard. And famous. And had found out less than two months before hand. 

While it might make Harry uneasy, it also made him like Draco even more.

“There will be several people who will not take to flying in the least, Harry,” Draco said, using the tone he tended when he knew more than he was letting on. 

Harry noticed Draco glance at Neville, who sat down across from Harry with a cheery grin. The look on Draco’s face as he nodded at Harry told Harry that Draco either felt or _knew_ Neville wasn’t going to be a master flyer. 

“And with how much you seem to be interested in Quidditch, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll be a natural.”

Harry frowned. “But the way some of the boys go on about flying, they’ve been at it since they were small. I’ve never even held a magical broom.”

Draco quirked a blond eyebrow at him. “You’ve had a non-magical one?”

Harry gave Draco a dark look, not wanting to talk about his time at the Dursleys. Draco was smart enough to drop it. 

“I’m sure it’s mostly talk,” Draco assured. “I’ve been flying for a long time, but there is room for improvement. Madam Hooch knows a lot about Quidditch. And flying. She’s a master at it, I hear.”

This did not make Harry feel any better. 

Everyone was talking about flying in the coming days. A lot of the stories sounded much too far fetched to be true. One boy, a Slytherin Harry didn’t know, was insistent he had narrowly escaped Muggles in helicopters many times. Seamus Finnigan, one of his dorm mates, seemed to have spent his entire childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick, dodging Muggle flying contraptions and birds. Weasley told the same story at least twenty times about how he’d almost hit a hang glider on his older brother Charlie’s broom. 

Draco informed Harry he doubted the Weasel (as Draco always called Weasley) knew what a hang glider was. 

Harry was sure Draco didn’t either, but didn’t say anything.

Neville, on the other hand, had never been on a broom. His grandmother wouldn’t allow him. Privately, Harry felt this was smart on his grandmother’s part. Neville attracted disaster like moths to a light. He was forever leaving a wake of blown up cauldrons, ripped cloaks, and bruised knees in his wake. Neville was horrified at the thought of flying in front of others. Or in general. 

The only person more worked up than Neville was Hermione, who had begun to read any book she could get on flying. When she dropped by Thursday morning for her morning social time, she bore the entire table to death with flying tips she’d gotten out of a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Draco looked mildly amused, but Neville was hanging on every word she said. He even took notes.

Her lecture on flying was interrupted by the arrival of the mail, which Harry was glad for. Her talking about flying was only making him more nervous about the lesson taking place later that afternoon. Granted, Hermione had every right to be nervous, more so as she was having flying lessons that morning with the Hufflepuffs. Her impending doom was happening before Harry’s. 

Draco’s large eagle owl landed in front of him, with a package of sweets. He took it from the owl, thanking the owl by feeding it some bacon. He detached the letter and box from the eagle owl’s leg, handing the box to Harry.  

“Why are you giving me this?”

“It’s for you.”

“Huh?”

“Well, we’re meant to share it,” Draco amended, pointing at the label on top of the box. “She wrote you a letter as well.”

Harry frowned, taking the letter from Draco. He hadn’t gotten a letter from her before, though he had been meaning to write to her. Narcissa said he could. She was really nice to him the two times she’d seen him. He simply had no idea what to say to her. He thought for a moment as he broke the seal on the letter. Draco’s parents were roughly the same age as his parents, so he could to ask her questions about his parents. Draco didn’t know much about Harry’s parents, mostly Sirius Black: Draco’s random obsession.   

“It’s a Remembrall!” Neville suddenly shouted, causing Harry to look up from the letter he was holding. “Gran knows I forget things— this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red— oh…”

Neville trailed off, holding the ball tightly as it glowed a bright scarlet. 

“I take it you’ve forgotten something,” Draco said, looking like he was working hard not to smirk.

“I guess,” Neville admitted, frowning. 

Neville was trying to remember what he’d forgotten when the Slytherin boy who had escape from a helicopter appeared, snatching the Remembrall out of Neville’s hand. Without thinking, Harry leapt up. There was something about the weedy boy that rubbed Harry the wrong way. 

“What’s going on here?”

Harry turned to find Professor McGonagall approaching. Her face was set in a tight frown and her eyes darted between the Slytherin boy and Harry quickly. 

“Nott’s got my Remembrall, Professor.”

After a look from Professor McGonagall, Harry got back into his seat while keeping an eye on Nott. Harry looked Draco who was wearing a frown to rival McGonagall’s. Only, Draco wasn’t paying attention to Nott like everyone else. He was staring at the two large thug like characters on either side of Nott. Harry hadn’t noticed the pair before. 

Harry hadn’t noticed many people, actually. Since starting lessons, he spent a majority of his time hiding from people’s stares. 

“Just looking,” Nott replied, scowling as he dropped the ball on the table. It rolled towards Draco, who stopped it with his hand. Nott sneered at Draco and sloped away with the two thugs. 

“What was that about?” Hermione asked, as Professor McGonagall walked back to the Head Table. 

“Nothing,” Draco muttered, handing the ball to Neville. It began to glow again. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips together. Harry gave Draco a questioning look. Draco sighed, noticing Hermione opening her mouth to ask her question. 

“Those two, the large ones?” Draco asked before Hermione could ask. Harry and Hermione nodded. “They were supposed to be my…friends. Father’s orders. But seeing I’m a Gryffindor, I doubt Crabbe and Goyle would…”

“Protect you? Beat people up for you?” Hermione offered, not sounding impressed. “Follow you around like mindless gnomes?” 

“Exactly,” Draco muttered, turning back to his newspaper. He unfolded it, snapping it to straighten it out and hid behind it. 

Hermione was frowning again, staring at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. She looked like she wanted to question why Draco’s father wanted him to have two thugs, but breakfast was ending and she had to go attempt to fly on a broom. 

By three thirty in the afternoon when it was time for Harry to have a go at flying, he knew Hermione had failed miserably. It was clearly something one could not learn from a book. This made Harry slightly nervous, as while he only had one class with Hermione, it was common knowledge she was the brightest witch of their class and she got all the spells right on the first try. It said something to him that she couldn’t fly. 

Harry knew he was going to fail miserably. 

Draco tried to cheer him up as they headed down the front steps and onto the grounds. The day was clear and breezy, causing the grass to ripple under their feet. It was a sight to see, but all Harry could think about was doing a nose dive off his broom. His nose already felt broken. 

“It’s perfect weather for flying. The breeze isn’t too bad and there’s no clouds, so no rain,” Draco babbled as they reached the area set up for them to fly. 

The Slytherins were already there, standing near the twenty broomsticks lined up on the ground in a neat line. The Weasley twins had informed Harry the school brooms were terrible, amp to vibrate if you flew too high or too fast and tended to go left. At the time, their demonstration of the brooms flying to the left had been funny, but now that Harry was faced with said brooms, he was horrified of heading to the left and crashing into a tree. Or a having a mid-air collision with another student. 

“Calm down,” Draco whispered as the teacher arrived. “I bet you’re going to do fine.”

Harry didn’t reply, as teacher, Madam Hooch, barked, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

She was an interesting looking woman, with short, spiky gray hair and yellow hawklike eyes that were somewhat creepy. They were even shaped like a cat’s eye. 

“Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

Harry moved to stand next to an innocent looking broom. He noticed a few twigs in the tail were sticking out at odd angles. Draco took the spot next to Harry and frowned at his own broom. 

“Why can’t we bring our own brooms for this?” he muttered. “Mine at least has all the twigs going the right direction.”

Draco’s broom’s twigs were in worse condition than Harry’s. 

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch, who had a very nice looking broom near her lying on the ground, “and say ‘UP.’” 

Harry took a calming breath before saying, “UP!”

There were a chorus of “UP” shouts all around him. 

Harry’s broom instantly jumped into his hand like it could not resist. Shocked, he glanced around at everyone else. Neville’s broom rolled away from him. Dean Thomas broom was jumping up half way, but not making it into his hand. There was a blond Slytherin girl whose broom hadn’t moved at all. She looked near tears. Draco had his broom in his hand and appeared bored. Nott looked smug, holding his broom with his nose in the air. Weasley and the dark skinned kid he hung around with both had their brooms as well. Harry noted Weasley was whispering out of the corner of his mouth to the blonde girl next to him. Whatever he said to her must have worked. The broom jumped into her hand. She looked surprised. She gave Weasley the barest smile. 

“Try again,” Madam Hooch ordered to those who still had no broom in their hand. 

Neville tried again. There was a quaver in his voice that made it clear he did not want to have the broom in his hand. Maybe brooms were like horses in that they sensed fear? 

It took Neville (and a few others) a few more tires to get the brooms into their hands. When everyone had a broom in hand, Madam Hooch instructed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end. Once everyone was on, she walked up and down the line correcting grips. Harry felt delight when she informed Nott he was gripping his broom all wrong, thus he’d been doing it wrong for years. Next to him, Draco snorted rather unattractively. Nott looked up, piercing Draco with a withering glare. 

“Now, there’s two good grips,” Madam Hooch remarked, glancing between Draco and Harry. “See here, how they are holding the broom. That’s perfect.”

Madam Hooch marched to the other end of the line and turned to face everyone. She stuck out her hand and the broom jumped up without her having to say UP. 

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” she began. “You’ll need to keep the broom steady, rise a few feet, then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. Like this.”

She demoed what she wanted them to do. Harry felt the knot of nerves within him loosen. It looked simple enough. 

“On my whistle— three— two—”

She never did blow the whistle. Neville shot into the air, his jumpy, nervous manner causing him to kick off early and way too hard. He shot off into the air, raising up fast. 

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted as Neville continued to channel a cork shooting out of a bottle. Neville went up at least twenty feet, his face stark white and fearful, his eyes glued to the ground, where he wished to be. Harry kept his eyes on Neville, wondering when Madam Hooch was going to go get him, when Neville suddenly let out a yelp and— 

WHAM.

A loud thud and nasty crack sounded as Neville landed facedown on the grass in a heap of robes. There was a collective gasp from the students. Harry looked above him and saw the broomstick was still going up higher and higher, then hooked a left and vanished into the forest. 

Harry turned to Draco, who was frowning at Nott for some reason. 

“Broken wrist,” Madam Hooch muttered. “Come on, boy— it’s all right, up you get.”

Madam Hooch stood up and glared at the group through narrowed catlike eyes. 

“Everyone put the brooms down. None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing. You leave those brooms on the ground or you’ll be out of Hogwarts faster than you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come along, boy.”

Harry frowned as he watched Neville, his face tear-streaked, hobbled off after Madam Hooch clutching his wrist to his chest. 

“Did you see his face, the great lump?”

Harry, who was watching Madam Hooch and Neville vanish up the stairs and into the castle, heard Draco suck in a little too much air through is nose. Looking up at the taller boy, he noticed Draco wearing an odd expression. It looked as if he’s swallowed a lemon. 

“Shut up, Nott,” Parvati Patil snapped over the jeering Slytherins. 

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom, Patil?” said a hard-faced Slytherin girl. “Never thought you’d liked fat, little cry babies.” 

Parvati opened her mouth to respond, but Nott swooped down where Neville had fallen and scooped something up. 

“Look! It’s that stupid thing Longbottom had this morning!”

The Remembrall glittered in the afternoon sunlight as Nott held it up. Harry felt anger build up within him. In the Muggle world, Harry tended to be in Neville’s place, now— simply because he failed to die— he had weight in the pecking order. He could stand up to bullies like Nott. 

Harry stepped forward. 

“Give that here, Nott,” Harry said quietly. 

Everyone stopped talking, eyes glued to Harry. For a moment, Harry regretted stepping forward, as he’d just put himself in the limelight, but the injustice was too much for him. He stood strong, hand extended for the ball. 

Nott smirked nastily. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find.”

His broom jumped into his hand. 

“Oh, how about— up here?”

“Give it here!” Harry shouted, as Nott kicked off and rose up in the air over the group’s heads.

Nott had not been lying. He could fly. There was an ease and grace to his movement, even on the crappy school broom. Nott hovered near the top of a nearby tree, holding out the Remembrall.

“Come and get it, Potter,” Nott taunted.

Harry grabbed his broom.

“No!” Lavender Brown said, looking worried. “Don’t do it, Harry.”

Harry glanced at Draco, who rose one eyebrow just so. He had that look again, as if Draco knew exactly what Harry was going to do and what the outcome would be. Harry felt, instead of his usual unease, a surge of smugness. 

He’d show Nott. 

With blood pounding in his ears, he mounted his broom and kicked off. He soared up into the air. The air rushing through his hair, the almost weightless feeling was a wondrous feeling. He felt free. He’d never felt this way before. 

This was easy.

This came naturally.

Below him he could hear a combination of noise. There were screams, gasps, and whoops. 

Harry turned his broom sharply and faced a stunned Nott midair. 

“Give it here,” Harry ordered, holding out his hand. 

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Or I’ll knock you off your broom.”

“Sure,” Nott tried to sneer, but he looked worried. “And I’m Merlin’s uncle.” 

Somehow, Harry knew what to do. He leaned forward, held the broom tightly and shot towards Nott with speed he wasn’t aware the broom could do. And shockingly, the broom didn’t veer left. Nott moved just in time not to be bowled over. Harry turned sharply, holding the broom steady as he faced Nott again, who was now looking dumbfounded. 

“No Crabbe and Goyle to save your neck up here, huh?” Harry taunted. 

The same thought seemed to have struck Nott, as he glanced down below him where the two huge thugs were dumbly staring up at their leader. Nott looked back up, looking panicked for a moment. Suddenly, he shouted, “Catch it if you can!”

Nott threw the glass ball high into the air above his head and streaked back to the ground. 

The world moved in slow motion. Harry saw the ball rise up in the air and start to fall. Without thinking again, Harry leaned forward and pointed the handle down. The next second he was in a steep dive gathering speed. The wind was howling in his ears, mingling with the noises of the crowd below him. He ignored all of it and focused on the ball falling through the air. He stretched out his hand and closed it around the glass ball about a foot from the ground. He yanked his broom straight and toppled off gently. He sat up and looked at the ball clutched in his hand, a soft smile on his face.

“HARRY POTTER!”

The smile fell.

“Never— in all my time at Hogwarts— ”

Professor McGonagall was storming towards him. Harry slowly got to his feet, trembling. She reached him and she was so shocked, she was unable to complete a sentace. 

“How dare you— broken your neck— what were you— how dare you—”

In the sunlight, her square glasses flashed as she flustered around for words. 

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor—”

“Be quiet, Miss Patil.”

“But, Nott—“

“That’s enough, Finnigan. Potter, follow me, now.”

Nott, Crabbe and Goyle were all wearing triumphant expressions as he followed after Professor McGonagall. Harry took a glance at Draco, who he was surprised to see was smiling. Catching his eye before he vanished with McGonagall, Draco gave him two thumbs up. 

Confused, Harry turned back around. Why was Draco giving him two thumbs up for getting in trouble?  Draco was more batty than Harry thought. 

Harry was going to be expelled. End of story. Time to back his bags and go. 

His heart sank as he tried to think of something to say to defend himself to McGonagall, but words failed him. He followed numbly after McGongall as she swept along the hallways, not even looking at him. She was moving quickly. Harry had to jog to keep up. 

Harry hadn’t even lasted a month. What were the Dursleys going to say when he turned up, kicked out of the freak school? 

Harry wasn’t paying attention where McGonagall was leading him as he was too miserable. He did realize at some point, they were not heading to her office. Maybe she was taking him straight to Dumbledore? 

McGongall stopped outside the Charms classroom. Harry furrowed his brow, wondering what she needed with Professor Flitwick. She opened the door, putting her head inside. 

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?”

Wood? Was Wood some sort of magical object they used to punish students before expelling them? Or a special wand they used to send him packing without bothering with usual methods of travel? 

Oh, no. Maybe Wood sent students to that jail Draco had told him about…

Harry took a few steps backwards. McGonagall stepped back to reveal Wood was not an object at all, but the burly fifth year who Harry often saw with the Weasley Prefect whose name he failed to remember. Wood looked curiously at Harry, who was still clutching the Remembrall and the broom. He hadn’t even noticed he was still holding the broom. He stared at it for a moment before looking back at Wood. 

“Follow me, you two,” ordered McGonagall. 

Wood looked confused, but turned and followed the professor. Harry trailed a step or two behind Wood, dragging the broom behind him. 

“In here.”

Wood and Harry entered the classroom McGongall had indicated to. It was empty, except for Peeves, who McGonagall banished from the room. The poltergeist cursed and threw chalk dust at them, covering them in fine, white dust. Harry and Wood both began sneezing. McGongall made an angry noise, swished her wand, and suddenly they were all clean. She shook her head, recomposed herself, then smiled.

Harry felt alarmed.

“Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood— I’ve found you a Seeker.”

The puzzlement left Wood instantly and he looked down right gleeful. It was as if someone told him it Christmas was coming early. 

“Are you serious, Professor?”

“Absolutely. He’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” She turned toward Harry. “Was that your first time on a broom?”

Harry managed to nod, his insides twisting in all directions. He was beginning to feel things again, like his legs, now that he knew she wasn’t going to kick him out of school. In fact, Harry was pretty sure she wanted him to join the Quidditch team as Seeker. First years weren’t allowed brooms, nor were they allowed on the Quidditch teams

Harry felt it best not to bring something like that up at the moment. 

McGonagll went on to tell Wood, who turned out to be the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, all about Harry and his quest to catch the Remembrall. She assured both of them she’d get the all clear from Dumbledore to allow Harry on the team and a broom. Wood began talking about brooms, while Harry stared at the ball in his hand. 

Harry was going to have to find a way to thank Nott for getting him on the Quidditch team. 


	16. Not Going There, But Then I Went

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Parts taken from _Philosopher’s Stone_.**

* * *

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’m not.”

“They’re going to get you a broom?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously? I thought Wood was pulling our leg.”

“Honestly, Fred, when have you known Wood to joke about Quidditch.”

“But, look at him!” 

“He’s light, small, and flies like a natural. What’s wrong?”

“He’s a ickle firsty!”

Harry hurrmphed and turned to Draco, who had tried his best to appear shocked when Harry had excitedly told him he was going to be Seeker. Draco knew he ought to have acted better, but found himself a tad jealous. He loved Quidditch. He wanted to play. 

At least he wouldn’t be Seeker. He hated playing Seeker. It was his father’s choice for him to be Seeker. Draco would rather be a Chaser. If time played out the same way as it did last time, a Chaser spot would not open up on the team till sixth year. He could be a Beater if the twins left midway through fifth year…or Seeker if Harry got kicked off. 

“First years never make the House teams,” Fred insisted. “He’s got to be—” 

“The youngest player in a century,” Harry finished for Fred. “Wood said it a million times between random factoids about the Nimbus Two Thousand.”

The twins sighed, looking dreamy for a moment. Draco chuckled quietly as the group made their way over to one of the many tables sitting around the Common Room. In the past two weeks, the Common Room had become more comfortable for Draco. He still missed the lavishness of Slytherin— the lush leather and plush, rich fabrics. There was something comforting about the worn in stuff that sat around the Gryffindor Common Room. It was casual, a concept new for Draco. 

Draco dropped his book bag and sat down in one of the chairs, pulling out his homework. The twins, meanwhile, went on waxing about Harry making the team. 

“I just cannot—”

“—believe it. First Ron— ”

“— goes to Slytherin And now— ”

“— Harry Potter is the youngest— ”  

“— Quidditch player in a century.”

“Harry’s very good. I witnessed it,” Draco offered, dragging his ink pot out. Harry was still in shock at his luck at not getting in trouble. He sat at the table, grinning like a maniac with a bemused look in his eyes. 

“We’re totally going to win the cup,” George said.

“We haven’t been good since Charlie left to play with the dragons,” Fred offered. “And Wood was skipping.”

“That is something he usually doesn’t do, mind you.”

“And he shouldn’t,” Fred insisted. “It’s wrong on so many levels.”

“Oi!” 

The twins looked up. Their friend Lee Jordan was standing in the entrance to the Common Room, looking put out. 

“I thought we were going to go look for that….thing,” he finished lamely, realizing the entire room was staring.

“Ah, yes. Thing.”

“Translation, secret passage. Not holding out hope,” George said, winking. 

“We know all the secrets,” Fred said, clicking his tongue and winking. 

They pair leaped out of their chairs in unison and skipped over to Jordan, who shook his head, sending his braids flying. 

“Those are another two people who should not be skipping,” Draco commented before turning back to his homework. He stared at the essay he was supposed to be writing on potions to cure ailments. He frowned. 

“I need a book,” Draco announced. He sat back in his chair, looking around the Common Room. “I don’t want to go to the library.”

“Don’t let Hermione hear you say that,” Harry joked. “What do you need a book for?”

“This potions essay. Did you start it yet?” Draco inquired. 

Harry colored. Draco rolled his eyes, instructing Harry to go get his things. Gathering his own back up, he waited for Harry near the portrait hole. Harry stumbled down the stairs, straightening before meeting Draco. The pair of boys left the room, managing to somehow graceful get through the hole. 

“That is one thing I dislike about Gryffindor,” Draco grumbled. “The entrance hole.”

“Yeah, it is kind of awkward,” Harry agreed as they headed down the stairs. “But, I like the Common Room. It’s homey.”

“That it is,” Draco agreed. 

The stairs began to shift. When they finally came to a stop, the sight that greeted Harry and Draco was not welcome. Waiting for them was Nott, Crabbe and Goyle. Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco decided he was tired of these odd moments of repeats staring Nott as Draco Malfoy, former Prince of Slytherin. 

“Did you enjoy your last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to those Muggles?” Nott sneered.

“You’re a lot braver on the ground, aren’t you? With your little friends to back you up,” Harry cooly replied.

Draco snorted. There was nothing, and would never be, anything little about Crabbe and Goyle except for their intellect. 

“I’d take you on anytime, Potter,” Nott announced, taking a step forward. “Tonight, if you want.”

Draco froze. 

“Wizard’s Duel. Wands only.”

“NO!” Draco said a little too loudly.

Nott glared at Draco, sneering even more. “What’s the matter, Malfoy? Scared?”

“Of you? Hardly.”

“Don’t think Potter can take me?”

“Harry can take you any day, Nott,” Malfoy replied. Malofy stepped up on the last step, standing right in front of Nott, looking him straight in the eye. Malfoy had paid no attention to Nott till fifth year, when he suddenly realized Nott ought to be a “friend” due to the fact their father’s were both Death Eaters.

That was when Draco discovered Nott was weedy in behavior as he was looking. 

While he still looked weedy, the fact he had two idiot thugs had made him somehow daring.

“I’m his second,” Draco heard himself saying. 

What was he doing? If Nott was Draco, then Nott wasn’t going to show up. Draco had no intention of showing up when he’d pulled this stunt. He’d simply told Filch there were students out of bed in the trophy room and had gone to bed. Laughing. 

“Crabbe is my second then,” Nott said, sinister smirk on his face. 

Draco never wore a sinister smirk. That was stupid. Now Draco KNEW Nott did not plan to show up, even if he hadn’t already known. 

“Midnight. Trophy room. It’s always unlocked,” Nott said, turning. He marched off down the hall, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. 

“Uh, Draco?”

Draco startled, forgetting Harry was behind him. Harry jumped off the stairs before the stairs began to move again. He looked puzzled.

“What just happened?”

“Uh, I agreed you’re going to duel Nott tonight at midnight,” Draco sheepishly admitted, running a hand through his hair. It flopped over, getting back into his eyes. He needed a hair cut now that he wasn’t plastering his hair to his head as he had the first time around. “But, he’s not going to show up, so it doesn’t matter.”

Harry frowned. “What’s a Wizard’s Duel and how do you know he’s not going to show up?”

“Well, it’s a duel. You shoot spells at one another. It becomes a Wizard’s Duel because, well, you need a second.”

“Why?”

“Well, there’s a second in case you die. To take over,” Draco explained, trying to sound casual.

Harry’s green eyes bugged out. “In case I die?”

“You’re not going to die,” Draco insisted, grabbing Harry’s arm so they could start walking. “We’re not going.”

“But you said we’d be there,” Harry insisted. “If we don’t show up Nott’ll—”

“Do nothing, as he won’t be there. I’m telling you, he wants you to get caught out of bed at night,” Draco insisted, letting go of Harry as they neared the library. 

“How do you know?”

“I know Slytherins. I know how they think. And Nott is an arrogant prat and a bully. He doesn’t like you because you’re, well, you and in Gryffindor.”

“He seems to dislike you just as much,” Harry whispered as they walked into the library. 

“I know,” Draco admitted.

“Why?”

“Because,” Draco drifted off, not wanting to tell Harry exactly why Nott wouldn’t like Draco. 

Well, actually, Nott should be thankful Draco was in Gryffindor. Nott got to be top dog. Somehow. How had that happened? Nott was nothing like Draco. If anything, it ought to have been Parkinson or someone like her who rose to take the lead as Biggest Prat. 

“Because why?” Harry asked as they sat down at a table near the Potions section. 

“Stupid stuff,” Draco said. “I’m going to go find my book.”

Draco stood up and hurried off before Harry could say anything. He did not want to explain blood-traitor to Harry. When he finally had to, it’d be the day he would have to admit that was how he was currently viewed by the Slytherins. And likely his father. It made no sense. Draco hadn’t betrayed his blood yet exactly, well, to his parents knowledge. 

Fact was, though, he was a blood-traitor. He was almost as big of one as a Weasley. Shivering, Draco pushed all thoughts of that out of his head, searching for the potions book he wanted. 


	17. He Who Must Have a Death With

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Parts taken from _Philosopher’s Stone_.**

* * *

Draco woke with a start. It took him a few moments to figure out whispering from outside his closed curtains was the reason for the disturbance in his sleep. He rolled back over, drawing his duvet closer.  

“I have to go.”

“You still need a second,” someone said in return. 

Draco was wide awake now. Ripping his curtains open he found Harry, fully dressed and attempting to get out of the dorm after tripping over Thomas’ trunk. Harry had clearly knocked it over, spilling the contents all over the floor. Thomas and Harry were tossing things into the trunk. Finnigan (Draco had finally figured out his name) was arguing with Harry. 

“It’s half past eleven. I gotta go,” Harry insisted.

“What is the matter with you?” Draco hissed. “Nott’s trying to get you in trouble.”

Thomas and Finnigan looked relieved Draco had woken. 

“He’s going to show up,” Harry insisted stubbornly. “Why would he go through the trouble if he didn’t want to duel?”

Draco sighed. For a second, he forgot Harry was eleven. Harry didn’t usually act like his age, but of course he picked NOW to be childish and stubborn. 

“It’s my chance to beat him at his own game,” Harry insisted. 

“What has Nott done to you?”

Nott had not been as arrogant or brattish to Harry as Draco had been in the original timeline. Granted, Nott did tend to laugh loudly and point Harry out when Harry did anything wrong. 

“Harry, this isn’t a very good idea,” Finnigan insisted.

“I’m going.”

Harry threw one last thing into Thomas’ trunk and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Finnigan snorted. 

“Way to way up the dorm,” he grumbled. “You going after him, Drake?”

Draco hated when people shorted his already rather short name, but ignored it. He nodded, grabbing his school robe and throwing it on over his pajamas. He easily crossed the room now that the lights were on and started after Harry, catching up as Hary was pushing the portrait door open.

“Wait, Harry!” he hissed. “You’re going to loose House points!”

Draco had no idea why he was bringing this up. It sounded like something an eleven year old would worry about at a time like this. 

“It’s what Nott wants! You to loose a load of points and loose the House Cup!” Draco insisted, following after Harry. He was about to add a few more things, but he tripped over something, face planting on the cold, stone floor. “Bloody hell.”

“Sorry,” something squeaked.

Gingerly, Draco picked himself up off the ground, wondering how Harry had managed not to trip. Draco found Longbottom on the ground where the boy had clearly fallen asleep outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. 

“I’ve been out here for hours, I couldn’t remember the password,” Longbottom offered. 

Draco closed his eyes. He needed to start slipping Longbottom a Memory potion. 

“It’s ‘Pig snout’ but it won’t help you,” Harry said. “She’s gone off somewhere.”

Longbottom and Draco looked up to find the portrait was gone. 

“Well, that’s stupid,” Draco muttered getting to his feet. After he was on his feet, he helped Longbottom up. “We’re locked out. Great. Just great, Harry. Now what?”

Harry scowled. It was the first time since re-meeting Harry Potter the expression was directed at Draco. Longbottom moved closer to Draco, looking puzzled. 

“I’m going to go meet Nott.”

“Why are you meeting Nott?” Longbottom asked. 

Instead of answering, Harry turned and stalked off. Draco really wanted to heave a sigh, but refrained. He jerked his head in Harry’s direction. “Let’s follow. Best you stay with us. It’ll be better.”

“Thanks. The Bloody Baron’s passed twice already,” Longbottom said, shivering. 

The boys started after Harry, who was already stalking in the direction of the trophy room. Draco made sure he kept Harry in sight as they flitted silently along the moonlight corridors. While Draco had been out of bed before while at school, he had to admit doing it with Harry Potter felt somewhat thrilling. There were a lot of tales and rumors about Harry’s nighttime travels around the school. Draco had been jealous of all the high jinx the Golden Trio managed to find themselves in at night.

Though, now that he was living it and thinking rationally, it was more nerve wracking than fun. He half expected Quriellmort to pop out of an empty classroom at any moment and curse them all for no apparent reason. 

The boys reached the last staircase that lead to the third floor area where the trophy room was and started down. Draco always was amazed at how there was no direct route to anywhere in the castle. It was an amazing accomplishment anyone ever got to class on time. 

“They’re not here,” Harry stated as Draco and Neville entered the room behind him.

“Of course not,” Draco muttered. 

Knowing what was going to happen, Draco kept close to Neville in order to get him to move quickly when Filch showed up. Harry, stupidly, traveled further into the room, wand out, and looked for where Nott and Crabe might have hidden themselves.

“They’re more than likely laughing in their Common Room,” Draco muttered.

“Maybe they chickened out?” Longbottom offered.

Draco shook his head as a noise in a room nearby made all three jump. Harry quickly made his way back to the other two boys as they heard a voice. One that failed to belong to a Slytherin.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner,” Filch said.

“I told you!” Draco hissed, turning quickly after grabbing Longbottom by the wrist. Thankfully, Longbottom’s two left feet worked properly and he didn’t trip as Draco quickly dragged him off. They turned the corner right before Filch enter the trophy room. 

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter. “Hiding.”

Harry moved in front of Draco, mouthing, “This way.”

Draco had no idea why he was following Harry, as Draco knew the castle better than Harry, but he dragged Longbottom blindly after Harry. As they continued down a long gallery full of suits of armor, Filch move out of the trophy room, heading in their direction. With each move they made, Filch got closer. Longbottom let out a frightened squeak as he knocked into a suit of armor, causing it to topple over when they turned a corner too tightly. Draco let go of Longbottom’s wrist, tripping backwards as the thing clanged and clunked, causing enough noise to wake the dead.

“RUN!” Harry yelled, giving up the pretense to be quiet. 

The three took off at top speed, not bothering to look behind them. Harry swung into a hallway, quickly followed by Draco and Longbottom. For a kid with short legs, Harry was very quick. Draco was having a hard time keeping up. Harry reached a tapestry, which he ripped to the side, revealing a hidden passageway. He jumped up and down, pointing. Draco reached behind him and grabbed a wheezing Longbottom and tossed him into the passage, following after him. Draco and Longbottom came out in the Charms corridor, near the classroom they had Charms. 

“How—” Longbottom started, looking bewildered as Harry popped out next to him.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall. “I’m sure he doesn’t know about that one. At least that’s what the twins said.”

“What was that?” Longbottom asked.

“Hidden passage way,” Harry explained. “The twins showed me when they found me lost last week.” 

“We need to get back to Gryffindor Tower,” Draco said once he’d caught his breath. “Without being seen.”

Draco sent Harry a glare, which he hoped said, _You are an idiot and I hate you. Oh, and I told you so._

From the manner Harry shrunk into himself for a moment, Draco was sure he had gotten his message across. Harry pushed himself off the wall and mumbling, “Let’s go.” 

The three boys had taken a few steps when a door knob began to rattle behind them somewhere. Draco felt ever nerve in his body snap. He thought Harry had _good_ luck. Any _luck_ had run out. 

“Peeves,” Draco hissed right before Peeves burst out of the classroom. 

Peeve spotted them right away. He gave a squeal of delight and began to cackle, bouncing up and down midair, his outrageously ugly hat jingling as the bells hit one another in his glee. 

“Shut up! Shut up!” Harry pleaded.

“Wandering around at midnight. Naughty naughty. Tut, tut, tut. Time for you to get caughty!”

“No! Please!” 

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN IN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

“Bloody hell,” Draco breathed, grabbing Longbottom and running for their lives again. They ran straight to the end of the corridor where they ran headfirst into a closed, locked door. 

“Oh, no,” Longbottom moaned, dancing back and forth on his feet. “Oh, no. This is the end.”

“Out of the way,” Draco snarled. Draco grabbed Harry’s wand, as it was still out, and hissed, “ _Alohomora_.” 

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Grabbing Longbottom again (as he was still dancing from one foot to the other and muttering about the end), Draco threw himself into the room and shut the door tightly the moment Harry was in. He was so mad he couldn’t even think straight. He pressed his forehead to the door.

“Which way did they go, Peeves? Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please,’” Peeves said in an oily tone. 

“Don’t mess with me! Now where are they!”

“Shan’t say nothing if you don’t say please,” said the sing song voice of Peeves.

“Fine. Please.”

“NOTHING!” Peeves cackled. “Told you I wouldn’t say NOTHING if you didn’t say please!” 

Peeves whooshed off, leaving behind a cursing Filch.

“He must think this door is locked,” Harry whispered.

Draco and Harry remained quiet while Longbottom, who kept yanking on Draco’s sleeve and making odd, high pitched noises.

“What is it?” Draco snapped. 

Longbottom let out a series sort of squeak-like noises, causing Harry to turn around. His eyes went wide. Slowly, Draco looked over his shoulder and saw what had rendered Neville a squeak toy. 

Oh, why did he ever want to be friends with Harry Potter? Things like this happened to Harry Potter. What other student would happen to walk into a room with a huge, slobbering three headed dog?

Harry Potter. 

That’s who. No one else. Ever. 

The dog filled the whole space between the ceiling and floor. The rolling mad eyes (six eyes in total) were taking the three boys in, causing the dog begin to growl. Draco watched with disgust as the drool begin to fall from three different mouths in slippery, silvery ropes. Disgust turned to fear when the mouths opened to reveal yellowing fangs, which looked sharp enough to kill instantly. 

“Why aren’t we dead?” Draco managed to ask.

“No clue. Let’s go.”

Draco felt around behind him for the door knob. Between the ugly, death giving dog and Filch, Draco would take the angry old man any day. Finding the door knob, Draco tore the door open and pelted into the hallway, quickly followed by Neville and Harry. They yanked the door shut and Draco relocked it with Harry’s wand as they heard the dog burst out in angry sounding barks and ram into the door. Harry let out a yelp, Neville a squeak and Draco a series of curses no eleven-year-old should know. 

Without waiting to see if Filch was indeed still around, the three boys took off running. Anything to get away from the monster dog. The three did not stop till they were once again standing on the seventh floor outside the Fat Lady’s painting. Luckily, she was back.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, staring at them in anger.

“Pig snout,” Draco panted.

The portrait swung open and the three scrambled in, collapsing on the floor the moment they cleared the entrance. 

“Never. Again. Am. I. Following. You. When. You. Are. Doing. Something. Stupid.”

Harry remained silent for a moment, then, “What do you think that thing is doing in there?”

“It’s guarding something, clearly,” Draco drawled, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Did you realize where we were?”

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. “Oh. Wait, Dumbledore knows that thing is in the school?”

Draco snorted. “Yeah, he does.”

“It was standing on a trap door,” Neville whispered, not bothering to sit up. “It is guarding the trap door.”

Draco bit down his sarcastic remark on Neville actually noticing something. 

“Oh!” Harry said, excitement in his tone. “The break in at the bank!”

Draco fell backwards, throwing a hand over his forehead. 

“The dog must be guarding whatever Hagrid picked up!” Harry said, sounding excited. 

“What?” Neville asked. 

“It has to be it!” Harry insisted. 

Draco heard Harry get to his feet, all trouble from the past half hour forgotten in favor of solving a mystery. Harry began to list off his various theories for Neville, who hadn’t the pleasure of hearing them yet. Draco, meanwhile, remained spread eagle on the Common Room floor. 

It looked like no matter what Draco did, Harry getting himself into life treating situations when not needed was a fixed point in time. It was amazing Harry was The-Boy-Who-Lived rather than The-Boy-Who-Has-A-Death-Wish. 


	18. Shifting Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, as I don't think I've put this elsewhere on this story: Time is stubborn. It’s hard to change things, hence why things keep happening in a similar way to how they first happened. Since school began, Draco hasn’t been making any drastic changes or suggestions. He is at a disadvantage to actual avoid things happening as he doesn’t understand TIme nor does he know what actually occurred the first time around. Time (yes, with a capital letter) will try her hardest to keep the timeline in tact. (It has to do with those fixed points mentioned earlier.)

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it’s from _Philosopher’s Stone._**

* * *

Nott looked furious the next morning when Harry and Draco appeared at breakfast. Harry was cheerful, as he thought meeting the three headed dog had been a wonderful adventure. Draco was beginning to worry Harry was in fact a bit mentally unbalanced. No eleven-year-old would think having a run in with a monster was a great _adventure_.

Harry Potter did. 

Something must have addled the child’s brain at some point. 

Snorting, Draco realized there was a logical explanation for the boy’s addled brain: the Killing Curse. It was clearly shot at the boy’s head. 

Draco dropped his head into his hands. The Dark Lord had created the mystery loving, adventure addled Harry. The one who ran off on suicidal missions to “save people.” 

Lovely.

Or maybe, before the Dark Lord went psycho, he was like Harry? Before he dove so deep into the Dark Arts he had red eyes and turned into a snake and lost all his sanity. Draco tried to imagine a young Dark Lord, which was hard, because picturing Snake Face as a kid was disturbing. The odd image of a young Dark Lord running around the halls of Hogwarts trying to figure out the Mystery of the Three Headed Dog was all much for Draco. 

“It’s either really valuable or really dangerous,” Harry was saying, not bothering to notice Draco’s failed attempts at quelling his laughter. “Or both.”

In the light of day, Neville was behaving like a normal child. He did not think last night’s run in with Monster Death Dog was anything fun. He looked a bit green as Harry continued to rehash the night. Neville ate his breakfast quietly, giving Draco cautious glances once in a while. He even asked Draco if he needed to go to the Hospital Wing.

“No, but Harry might. He is clearly crazy,” Draco said, giving Harry the stink eye. 

He expected Harry to frown and inform him he wasn’t crazy, yet perfectly sane. But, no, Harry Potter did none of these things. Harry Potter smiled— largely—and proceeded to continue to guess what was hidden under the trapdoor. 

“A whole bunch of gold? A magical object that makes gold? A magical object that makes more magic? A stone worth more than the Hope Diamond? A stone that will create a never ending supply of oil?”

“Oil? Why would you want a never ending supply of oil?” Neville asked. “Can’t you get that easily? Why would you need a stone?” 

“Oil. The stuff Muggles use for their cars and stuff. It’s not a renewable resource,” Harry reported. “Well, it is. I guess. But it takes millions of years to make it. It’s made out of dinosaurs and dead plants that are underground and put under a lot of pressure. Muggles use it for all sorts of things.” 

Neville and Draco stared at him blankly. 

“Muggles run thing off oil? I thought you only used it for, well potions and cooking,” Neville said. “I thought it came from things like olives and other plants. That grow above the ground.” 

“Black gold,” Harry said, clearly not hearing Neville. “That’s what it was called in this book I read. Because it’s worth a lot.” 

Harry seemed to know a little too much about this odd Muggle oil. 

Hermione, when she learned of their night time misadventure, was furious. She was mad that Draco had failed to stop Harry, mad at Harry for being foolish enough to think Nott would show up and furious at the pair for dragging poor Neville along. 

She stopped talking to them. For a whole week. While Harry did not seem bothered (he was too busy trying to figure out what hidden under the trap door and trying to explain the wonders of Muggle Oil to Draco), Draco was hurt. He tried to talk to Hermione, but she huffed, turn around and leave. He got a foreign feeling in his chest the moment it happened, and it only grew each time she did it. Draco was not used to being ignored and at first he thought he was annoyed. 

It took him almost a week to realize he was hurt, having never really been “hurt” before in such a manner. He was Draco Malfoy, no one ignored him. No one had ever given him the silent treatment before. He found himself missing her company, mad at her for not talking to him, and frustrated with the way he was feeling. 

It was Granger! Why was he letting her get to him! She was a stuck up, annoying, know-it-all. 

But, he missed her. 

He didn’t like it, but he did. He finally accepted it after a week. Draco decided, as Harry continued to talk about Muggle oil with Neville, he was going to take to following Hermione around and talking nonstop till it annoyed her to the point she’d talk to him again. A week was enough time to get over being mad. 

“Oh!” Harry cried one morning when the owls flooded into the Great Hall a week after the Dog Incident. Draco looked up from where he’d been picking at his cereal to see a long, thin package carried by six screech owls heading in their direction. 

He knew what was in there. In the fallout of the Mad Dog Incident, he’d forgotten about the Remembrall Incident. 

Draco’s life was turning into Incidents Staged by Harry Potter. 

The owls soared over to Harry and dropped the package in front of him, knocking Draco’s cereal into his lap. Neville’s pumpkin juice went flying to the left, spilling all over the table and dripping onto the floor. Harry’s plate of bacon (that was all he was eating that morning: bacon) clattered to the floor, scattering bacon all over the space between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw table. The six owls had barely taken off when another owl swooped down and dropped a note in front of Harry (knocking over Draco’s cup of tea, which joined the cereal in his lap). 

Harry opened the note first, his eyes going large for a moment. Draco looked over his shoulder (after he’d cleaned himself up), reading the note from McGonagall informing him not to open his Nimbus Two Thousand at the table. Harry’s glee radiated off of him. He grabbed the wrapped package (which was clearly a broom) and tugged on Draco’s arm. 

“Yes?”

“Let’s go! I can’t open it here,” Harry whispered. “Come on!”

Despite his residual annoyance with Harry that it was his fault Hermione wasn’t speaking to them, Draco couldn’t stop himself from feeling the excitement Harry felt. Harry was so thrilled it was contagious. 

Draco grabbed his bag and followed Harry. As they headed for the door, Draco pulled several slices of bacon off his bag. They only made it halfway across the Entrance Hall when Nott blocked their way, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Before Harry could react, Nott reached out and grabbed the package out of Harry’s hands. 

“That’s a broomstick,” he announced dumbly, throwing it back at Harry. Draco was pleased to see there was a bit of jealousy on Nott’s face as he glared. It was quickly masked by triumph at catching Harry with a broomstick, though. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter. First years aren’t allowed brooms.”

“He is.”

Draco startled, looking beyond Nott and the Gnomes to see Wealsey and Zabini, accompanied by Tracey Davis and the girl with dark hair and glasses Draco had never bothered to learn the name of. 

“What do you know about it, Weasley,” Nott spit out, glaring at the group of Slytherins behind him. 

Zabini looked utterly bored. “What do we know about it? We know all about it, don’t we, Tracey?”

“We do.”

“We pay attention,” Glasses added. 

“So, we know the end result of your little stunt, Nott,” Zabini went on, narrowing his dark, slanted eyes. 

Nott seemed to be lost for words for a moment. Zabini strolled closer, eyeing the package in Harry’s hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Weasley. “What do you think, Ronald? Nimbus Two Thousand?”

“Only the best for Potter,” Weasley replied, his tone tinted with jealousy. 

“What would you know about it, you filthy blood-traitor?” Nott snapped. “You couldn’t even afford the handle.”

Zabini regarded Nott with a cold, indifferent look. “You are embarrassing yourself Nott and the House of Slytherin.”  

“I am not. You are. By associating with blood-traitors and half-bloods. You’re almost worst than Malfoy,” Nott snapped.  

A single eyebrow quirked on Zabini’s face. Before he could retort, Professor Flitwick appeared at Draco’s elbow.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked. 

“Potter’s got a broomstick,” Nott quickly announced, pointing at the package still in Harry’s hand. 

Zabini gave a long suffering sigh and strolled off towards Weasley. Before Flitwick could answer, Zabini and his crew had vanished. 

Draco found it curious Zabini had rounded up some of the bottom of the barrel Slytherins for his posse. Last time around, Zabini flitted around on the outskirts of Draco’s group, never really entering till sixth year when he had simply appeared. And, if Draco remembered, seventh year (also known as the Year of Hell) Zabini pretty much vanished off the radar again. 

Actually, the only solid thing Draco remembered about Zabini was the fact he adhered to the typical pureblood stance: Mudbloods and blood-traitors bad. 

Draco made a note too keep an eye on Zabini. The boy was clearly up to something. 

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Flitwick agreed, beaming up at Harry. 

Harry and Flitwick began chatting about the broom while Nott turned into a tomato. Draco took a step closer to Nott and smiled. 

“I’m so glad you’ve found friends, Nott,” Draco said in a quiet voice while Harry discussed broom stats with Flitwick. “But, let me warn you. When you need them to actually be friends, stand by you and stick up for you? They won’t. They can only think about their stomachs.”

Draco held up his hand containing the bacon. Both Crabbe and Goyle lunged for the bacon. Draco allowed the Gnomes to take the bacon and gave Nott a meaningful look. He turned around. Flitwick had gone and Harry was grinning. Nott looked furious and stormed out of the Entrance Hall. 

Draco saluted the Gnomes, who were both munching on bacon, and headed for the stairs. Harry followed. As they reached the top of the stairs, they heard, “How did you wind up with a broom for going out at night?”

Harry and Draco looked to their right to find an irate looking Hermione standing on the landing, hands on her hips. Draco felt something inside him twist. She looked tired and worn. He had a sinking feeling in absent of the distraction Harry and Draco offered, she was pushing herself too hard to be top of the world. 

“I thought you weren’t speaking to us?” Harry asked, looking at her with a hard expression.

“Harry,” Draco chided quietly. Being this was the first time Hermione hadn’t simply huffed at Draco, he got a feeling she was over being mad and was looking for an opening to talk to them again. While the prospect of annoying Hermione by trailing after and babbling nonsense amused Draco, he could live without it. “He got the broom because he can fly and catch tiny objects easily. He stood up to Nott during our flying class when Nott stole Neville’s Remembrall.”

Hermione frowned, but dropped her hands from her hips. Her over stuffed book bag crashed to the floor. Harry looked at it with a bit of alarm, as it made a rather resounded THUNK. 

“I take it you still broke the rules when you saved the Remembrall?”

“Er…” 

Harry shifted, loosing his earlier hard anger.

“He might have,” Draco admitted. “But, he didn’t know McGonagall was really into Quidditch.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “McGongall got that for you?”

“Shhhhh!”

Harry grabbed Hermione and steered her towards an empty classroom. Draco grabbed Hermione’s bag, which he charmed to be feather light for her— knowing she didn’t know how to do that yet— and followed. Harry was explaining how he’d been made the Seeker for the team—  but please don’t tell anyone— and how McGonagall had gotten him permission to have a broom. 

“You’re the youngest player in a century! Do you know why they don’t let first years play? It’s dangerous, Harry!” Hermione said when he’d finished with his story. “What was McGonagall thinking?”

“That she wants to win,” Draco explained. “She and Professor Snape have an ongoing feud between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Since…”

“Charlie Weasley _,”_ Harry supplied helpfully.

“Yes, since he graduated Gryffindor has been horrible. McGonagall is really into Quidditch, so when she caught Harry, she stuck him on the team. And…since it’s dangerous, you might see it as punishment,” Draco offered, remembering all the injuries Harry suffered from the sport. The kid fell from his broom a little too often. 

The prospect of future injuries as punishment did not make Hermione feel any better. She continued to fret about Harry and the dangers of him playing Quidditch, which over rode her earlier annoyance at Harry getting the broom for breaking the rules. She followed the boys up to the Gryffindor Tower. Not being able to resist seeing another House’s Common Room, she took Draco’s offered hand when invited in.

“Oh,” she gasped as she stood in the main room, looking around. “It’s rather…”

“Shabby? Homey? Lived in?”

Hermione frowned a bit. “It’s…casual. Comfortable. Ravenclaw is very…rich and luxurious. All dark blue and ivory. And there is a library and study rooms. The sitting room is rather small. Not like this room.”

Draco nodded. The Ravenclaw Common Room sounded a bit like Slytherin, only more than likely lighter and less chilly, as it was in a tower not a dungeon. 

Hermione ambled over to the squishy couches near the fire place, which was roaring with a fire. She looked around, a curious expression on her face. 

“I bet it gets loud in here, doesn’t it?” 

Draco nodded. “Yeah.”

“It’s always so quiet in Ravenclaw,” she said. She almost sounded absent minded. “They are really studious.”

“You know, Hermione, if you ever wanted to join Harry and I here in the evenings, all you need to do is ask,” Draco offered.

“How?”

“How about we research a method for us to be able to communicate with one another when we’re not able to get to one another,” Draco suggested. He knew fifth year she’d made coins that were able to pass messages between the Houses, but he doubted as first years, they’d be able to come up with that. 

Hermione nodded her agreement as Harry came crashing down the stairs. 

“Did you open it?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll do it after dinner. I put it in my trunk and locked it in. Tonight, I get to fly!”

Harry looked like he was about to burst at the thought of flying. Harry picked up his bag, which had fallen down the stairs ahead of him. It was amazing all his ink pots didn’t crack open and soak his bag in black ink. Harry jerked his head at the entrance hole and the trio headed out. 


	19. Trolling

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Parts from _Philosopher’s Stone_** _._

* * *

Dread seeped into Draco as Halloween approached for the following reasons: 

 1. Draco had no idea _how_ the troll had gotten into the school. 

2\. Draco didn’t know who to tell there was going to be a _troll_ in the school. He doubted McGonagall would believe him if he popped into her office and said, “Hey, on Halloween there’s going to be a troll in the dungeons!” It was highly she’d assign him detention for wasting her time. 

3\. Draco had an inkling that Quirellmort let the troll in. He was the one to inform the school there was a troll. Before dropping in a dead faint. 

4\. Draco doubted the Golden Trio was going to battle the troll. There was no way the three of them (any three of them, be it Weasel, Harry and Hermione or Draco, Harry and Hermione or any combination for that matter) were going to end up in the girl’s toilet “saving” anyone. 

Draco had never bought the story Granger had gone off to battle the troll herself. Granger might have been a Gryffindor, but she was one that actually thought about things before rushing off. 

While Draco was worrying, he was also attempting to research a method for two first years to communicate with one another. Hermione huffed it’d be easy if they had something called a fone or telly fone or something. She explained it in great detail, correcting him each time he said it wrong till he knew it was a phone, or telephone. He had no idea what a “cell” or “mobile” phone happened to be. It was something new to Hermione and it was portable. Evidently most of these phone objects were attached to walls. 

Grudgingly, he admitted it was a rather ingenious idea for a Muggle to come up with (even if they were attached to walls). Hermione began to tell him about something called Internet, which made communication even faster. He didn’t understand how a web made things go faster, but let it go. His head was getting too full of Muggle inventions and he was beginning to wonder why his father thought them so inferior. 

They were simply different. 

Hermione was explaining e-mail to him, when an idea hit him. 

“Wait, back up. This e-mail…it’s a letter?”

“Basically, yes. One you type into a computer. It’s still new, but I read all about it in one of the magazines my parents keep at their dental office. The article said it’s the next form of communication and it’s catching on quickly. I think it will be very important later. Maybe even replace phones.”

“So e-mail is a letter sent through…a wire?”

“I guess that’s one way to put it. It’s like a telegram, only comes straight to your personal computer. And you can use more words.”

“And the person receiving it, gets it instantly?”

“In theory, yes,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You think we can adapt something like that? And use magic?”

Draco slowly nodded, his mind turning over the idea. He stood up and began looking through books in the Charms section. He grabbed a few and headed back to the table. While he had been thinking they’d have to settle on the charm Granger had used on the coins her fifth year (and pray they’d be able to pull it off), this e-mail idea might be simple enough for a first year to do. Well, if those first years were Hermione and Draco. Draco doubted anyone else in their year could do what he was thinking. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it before, as he’d come across the spells his fourth year researching something for Charms, but he thought they were stupid and simple. 

Why he remembered them now, he wasn’t sure, but he was glad he did. 

“Here!” he shouted, pushing the book over to her. 

She read the charm, her face lighting up. “Draco! This is perfect! Do you think we can do this?”

“I think we can. All we have to do is charm the parchment— it’ll be a hard charm for us to do, but I think we can do it.”

Hermione picked up her wand and grabbed a piece of blank parchment. Without saying the words, she made the wand movements a few times, her mouth pressed together in concentration. She did it five times before she said the spell. 

“ _Instascripto!”_

They both stared at the parchment. It glowed blue for a moment before reverting to normal. She charmed another piece of parchment which also turned blue. 

“Did it work?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “You have to cast it on both pieces of parchments.”

Draco followed her lead, practicing the wand movements before trying the spell. After he was done, the parchments glowed red. Draco picked up his quill and wrote a simple message on the parchment. Once he was done he muttered, “ _Inmitto_.” 

Hermione’s gasp told him he’d done it right. Sure enough, the parchment in front of her, glowed a dull red and vibrated as his message appeared. She repeated the action and her message appeared on Draco’s parchment, glowing a dull blue and vibrating.  

“How will we link it to Harry’s?” Hermione asked. 

“We just charm another piece of paper with him, each of us doing the charm. I think.” Draco frowned. “I think we’ll have to research it. It only uses two sheets and two people here. But, it has to work for more than one person, like groups?”

“Maybe. We ought to do more research before we make one for Harry.”

“Till then, he can use mine.” 

Hermione nodded. “This is exciting! Oh! It’s almost time for the Halloween Feast! What do you think it will be like?”

“I think they decorate the hall with bats and pumpkins. And we get a sit down feast instead of the usual dinner,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded, then told him what Muggles did on all Hallows Eve. It was bizarre. 

The pair left the library and headed for the Great Hall. As they entered, Draco remembered he’d failed to do anything about the troll. His stomach continued to twist as he walked into the Great Hall. He tried to tell himself he need not worry about the troll. It wouldn’t hurt anyone. They’d all be safely in their Common Rooms while the teachers hunted the troll. 

And while Quirrellmort warned the troll was in the dungeons, the toilet the troll smashed up during it’s quest to kill Harry Potter and Friends wasn’t anywhere near the dungeons or either tower, so he didn’t need to worry.

Sitting down at the table, Draco watched the thousands of live bats swoop all over under the enchanted ceiling, which was reflecting low, black clouds. The candles were all housed in pumpkins, casting the room in a strange light. 

“This is kind of cool,” Harry offered. He had that wide eye wonder look about him again. “Is the food just going to appear on the plates like it did at the Start of Term Feast?”

Draco nodded as the food appeared. Harry began to help himself, but Draco knew what was coming and did not bother. He kept his eyes on the door at the end of the hall. Sooner or later, Quirrellmort was going to rush in. 

Draco sighed. He watched Harry and Neville eat. His stomach growled. Where was Quirrellmort? Draco wanted to eat dinner. 

The doors banged open, Quirrellmort sprinting into the room. He reached the front of the Hall, his turban askew. Draco looked carefully, hoping it was at an angle he could point out there was something wrong with the man’s head. If he could say he’d seen something—  

Tragically, the turban still covered Voldemort. Draco wasn't even sure how he knew. He glanced over at Harry, who stopped eating to watch Quirrell.

Oh, yes. Potter had yelled about Quirrell having Voldemort in the back of his head during defense fifth year during one of his rants at Umbridge. And had gotten detention. 

“Troll. In the dungeons. Thought you ought to know.”

And the idiot fainted. And didn’t hit the back of his head. Blast. 

Harry looked confused, but a majority of the students began to panic. Draco remained calm, waiting for Dumbledore to send them off to safety. The purple firecrackers he sent out of his wand did the trick. Silence fell. 

“Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories,” he ordered.

Prefect Weasley puffed out his chest, his shiny badge catching the light, while the Quidditch captain rolled his eyes deeply. Draco was sure Prefect Weasley shined that damn badge constantly to get it to shine that obnoxiously. 

“Follow me! Stick together, first years!”

What about the other years? Did they not need to stick together? 

“No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders!” Prefect Weasley ordered above the din of the other prefects ordering their Houses into the halls. “Excuse me, I’m a prefect!”

“Oh? You are? I failed to know. Mind telling us a few more times?” Draco muttered, following Harry out of the Great Hall. 

“What’s the problem? How did a troll get in?” Harry asked as they followed the other Gryffindor’s up the stairs.

“Quirellmort let it in,” Draco replied without thinking.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Who is Quirrellmort?”

“No one,” Draco quickly replied. “No one at all.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re not telling me something.”

Draco stared at his feet as they began to climb another stairway. 

“Draco.”

“Fine.” 

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm, leading him out of the flow of students and into a classroom. He peered around the half shut door. Once the Gryffindors were all passed, he turned to Harry. 

“Okay, I know you won’t believe me, but the Dark Lord is living in the back of Professor Quirrell’s head. That’s why your scar hurts when he turns around in class all the time.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “You noticed?”

Draco sighed. “You don’t hide it as well as you think. I know it’s not as bad as it was the first night we were here, but you grimace each time he turns around.”

“So, you just decided because of that, Voldemort was in the back of his head?”

Draco felt a shiver go down his spine at the sound of the name. He shook it off. 

“Yes, actually. Think about it. Who gave you that scar?”

“Voldemort.”

“When, if ever, has that scar hurt you?”

Harry frowned, staring at the ground. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, then looked back up at Draco. He looked as if he was debating with himself. 

“Well, you’re right about it hurting when Quirrell turns his back. It kind of weirded me out,” Harry admitted. “It’s hurt before though.”

He mumbled the last part.

“When?”

Harry gave Draco shifty eyes.

“When, Harry?”

“I have these dreams that make no sense. There’s this high pitched laughter and green light. When I wake up, the scar is prickling, but not painfully. I always thought—”

Harry abruptly stopped talking, his mouth hanging open. His green eyes went wide, meeting Draco’s grey ones. Draco felt sick. The realization was clear in Harry’s eyes. He knew what the green light and laughter represented.  

“That green light. That was how he killed them, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. The green light represents the Killing Curse.” Draco was quiet for a moment before asking, “Knowing what you do now, do you think my theory might prove right?”

“But, Quirrell…he’s…he’s…”

“Pathetic? Wimpy? Boring?”

“Scared of his own subject matter. Why would he ally himself with Voldemort if he’s frighten of the Dark Arts?”

“It might be an act. Did you think of that?” Draco offered. “He might be pretending so people thinks he’s a moron? Underestimate him.”

Harry bit his bottom lip, thinking it over. His mouth dropped open. 

“Troll. Quirrell told the teachers about the troll and fainted!”

Draco quickly put it together at the same time Harry did. 

“He’s after it!” they both exclaimed together. 

It was too early for Quirrellmort to try for whatever was hidden under the trapdoor. He waited till after summer exams the first time! 

Come to think about it, the Dark Lord always waited till summer to attack Potter. How kind of him. 

They both pelted out of the classroom and hurried over to the Charms corridor. They quickly ducked behind an open door. Peering around the open classroom door, they saw Snape and Quirrellmort standing by the door that had Monster Death Dog behind it. Quirrelmort was stuttering, while Snape had one hand on the wall holding his leg at an odd angle. Snape began speaking in a low tone to Quirrellmort, who looked frightened. There was a sudden loud crash somewhere below, which caused the two professors to startle. Quirrellmort rushed off, followed by a limping Snape. 

Draco made a puzzled expression and looked at Harry, who was wearing a similar expression. Knowing they needed to move, he tugged on the Harry’s collar. Harry fell back and they both began to walk towards the stairs that would take them up to the Gryffindor Tower. 

“What do you think that was about?” Harry asked. “What happened to Snape’s leg?”

“I think…” Draco paused, not knowing what to think. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think they are in this together?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I know the man is your godfather, but…he’s not very nice,” Harry offered quietly. “He is kind of sinister.” 

“I know. I just…something isn’t right.”

“You got that right. At least we know they don’t know how to get passed the dog,” Harry said as they road the stairs to the seventh floor. “I bet that was why Snape’s leg was messed up.”

“I don’t think they are working together,” Draco said, remembering something his father mentioned after the return of the Dark Lord. “I…I think Snape is suspicious of Quirrell.” 

“And knew he was up to something with the troll thing?”

Draco nodded as they reached the Fat Lady. 

“Why weren’t you two with the others?” she asked shrilly. “Did you want to be eaten by a troll?”

Draco muttered the password. Harry and Draco hurried into the Common Room, where the feast was taking place. The noise volume was loud. No one had noticed Harry and Draco missing, nor did they notice when the pair went up to their room without eating. 


	20. Clues to the Mystery

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s from _Philosopher’s Stone_ and I do not own it.**

* * *

The Common Room was abnormally loud the next evening. Harry couldn’t concentrate and left, muttering something to do with the twins. Draco continued his Charms homework. He felt something vibrating in his bag next to his foot. Leaning over, he sifted through the stuff till he pulled out a book that was vibrating. Knitting his eyebrows together, he opened the book, and a piece of parchment fell out, dully flashing blue. 

“Oh,” he said, wanting to whack himself in the head. 

_Mind letting me in. I’m outside._

_Hermione_

Draco got up and went over to the entrance hole. Sure enough, Hermione was seated on the ground. 

“Did you see Harry?”

“I think I must have just missed him,” she replied, slowly getting to her feet. “Where did he go?”

“Off somewhere,” Draco replied. “He said something about the twins.”

Hermione followed Draco into the Common Room. No one seemed to notice her presence. After getting situated at the table Draco had been sitting at, they both began to work on their Charms homework. (Draco knew how to do the spells, but he’d never bothered to learn all the theory, so Hermione’s help was, well, helpful.) 

The pair was almost finished when Harry came running into the Common Room, his face white and his eyes dancing with something Draco didn’t like. 

“What’s the matter?”

Harry took a deep breath and words began to pour out of his mouth. 

“I got separated from the twins and got turned around but I was near the Staff Room, so I went down there and wanted to peek in and Snape was there with Filch and he was showing Filch his leg and it was all bloody and managed and oh so gory and he said that he didn’t know how you were supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once and he got really mad when he noticed I was there then I said I was lost and then I ran off when he told me I couldn’t be lost, I was just being an arrogant, prancing idiot. Oh, and he called me an attention hog. I am not an attention hog. I hate being the center of attention. I wish people would just— oh, never mind. So, I ran off before he took points off me for being lost yet again as he’s already taken like twenty points because I keep getting turned around.”

Harry was out of breath by the time he finished. 

“So the dog got him?”

Harry nodded. “Do you think Quirrellmort was trying to stop him?”

“Quirrellmort?”

Harry jerked, suddenly realizing Hermione was sitting there. 

“You’re in Ravenclaw,” he stupidly said.

“I let her in. Harry, what if Snape was trying to stop Quirrellmort and that’s why the dog got him?”

“Who is Quirrellmort?” Hermione demanded to know. 

“Professor Quirrell,” Harry and Draco said together.

“Why do you add on _mort_ to the end?”

“Er…Draco had a theory that Voldemort is living in the turban.”

Hermione blinked very slowly and looked dumbfounded. “How on earth did you arrive at that conclusion?”

Harry looked to Draco to explain. Draco sagged in his seat. Draco explained shortly his theory on why he thought Quirrell had Voldemort living in his head. When he was done, Hermione was looking at him as if he had suddenly sprouted another head. 

“I know he’s not a very good professor, but that doesn’t mean he’s got an evil Dark wizard in his head,” Hermione snapped. “And what about Snape?”

“Well, he’s…” Draco trailed off. 

 He was a Death Eater. He was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. He killed Dumbledore. He was a Potions Master. He was one of the few people the Dark Lord trusted. Dumbledore trusted the bastard as well, even though he made his dislike for Harry Potter known to the world. Loudly. 

Why did everyone trust the greasy, overgrown bat? 

BATMAN! Snape _was_ Batman! The ace up his sleeve…whatever that happened to be, that had to be the reason both sides trusted the man. 

“He is tricky. Snape is clever, wily, astute and deceptive. He is a Slytherin to the core.” 

“I know he’s not very nice, but he wouldn’t try to steal anything from Dumbledore,” Hermione said. 

 _But he’d kill him_ , Draco thought darkly. 

“I’m not saying he is guilty. I am suggesting we not underestimate him.”

“All teachers are not saints, Hermione,” Harry added quietly. “And my scar does hurt while in DADA. More so than when I dream about the night my parents died.”

Hermione’s eyes went large. “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry!” 

“It’s okay. Draco left that part out. It’s all I remember about that night. Cold laughter and green light.”

Hermione’s face scrunched up and she stared off into the distance for a long beat. 

“What are we going to do?”

“Well, I’m sure Snape isn’t trying to get at whatever Dumbledore has hidden,” Draco announced. “It doesn’t make sense. He would never show Filch his leg like that in the Staff Room if he was trying to steal whatever is under the trap door.”

“So, Quirrell is trying?” Hermione said, still sounding doubtful. 

Harry and Draco looked at one another, then back at Hermione. They both nodded. 

“We should tell someone,” Hermione said. “Professor Flitwick or Professor McGonagall?”

“I’m sure Snape told them he thinks Quirrell is up to no good,” Draco offered. “I think we should stay out of it. Even if Snape did not, I’m sure Filch will tell Dumbledore. Why was he even showing Filch?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Harry trudged off, vanishing up the stairs. 

“Do you think…”

“I think all the time.”

Hermione gave Draco a withering stare. “I mean, do you really think Voldemort is in Quirrell’s head?”

“You said his name twice now. When I first met you, you were saying You-Know-Who.”

“Well, it’s just a name,” Hermione said. “And Harry says it. If anyone has anything to fear from the man, it’s Harry. If Harry can be brave and say the name, why can’t I?”

“Oh, you can,” Draco insisted. “But, the Dark Lord is scary. Harry is also a touch crazy.”

Hermione scoffed. “The name is silly.”

“What?” Draco asked, his eyes going wide. “Silly?”

The Dark Lord and _silly_ did not go together at all. It was like mixing oil and water. (Any kind of oil.) 

“His name means ‘flight of death’ in French,” Hermione offered. “And it just sounds silly. It’s meaning is silly, too. You cannot fly away from death.” 

Draco didn’t respond. 

“I have a feeling it was something he made up when he was young and foolish,” Hermione went on. 

Draco could not see the Dark Lord being young. Or foolish. Well, he could, but it wasn’t realistic.

“And why are people so scared to say his name? It’s not like anything is going to happen to them when they say it? He’s gone.”

She huffed and slammed her Charms book shut. She began asking Draco what he thought of their Potions homework, not noticing the expression Draco was wearing. 

The Dark Lord wasn’t gone. Far from it. 

* * *

 “Oh! There they are!” Hermione cried, pointing at the tiny figure exiting the locker rooms onto the Quidditch pitch. 

The first game of the Quidditch season. Slytherin verse Gryffindor. The captains shook hands (more like attempted to crush hands) and the players all kicked off. Draco sat with Hermione, Neville, Thomas and Finnigan, surrounded by other Gryffindors all in high sprits as the two teams soared into the sky. 

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor— what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too—”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

Draco snorted. Lee Jordan’s commentary was anything but straight forward and dry. Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing and watched the game above his head. He had really missed watching Quidditch. He got swept up into the game. He cheered when Wood saved Slytherin’s first goal attempt, booed when Katie Bell got hit in the head with a Bludger and cheered extra loudly when Gryffindor made the first goal of the game. 

Oh, god. 

Draco was a Gryffindor now. He was actually HAPPY they were doing well. 

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!” Hermione cried.

Draco suddenly jerked, as Hermione pressed further into his side. Draco moved a few steps to his left almost bowling Neville over. Hagrid sat down on Hermione’s other side. 

“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” Hagrid offered, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck. “But it isn’t the same as bein’ here. Harry not done anything yet?”

“No,” Hermione offered. “He’s flying around in circles.”

Harry suddenly took a steep dive, pelting towards the ground. The crowd all gave a collective gasp. 

“Was that the Snitch?” Jordan asked.

The Slytherin’s Seeker took off for it, keeping neck and neck with Harry. Harry leaned down closer to his own broom, taking the lead. Moments before Harry made and attempt to reach for the Snitch, Flint came out of nowhere and rammed right into Harry. 

Draco forgotten that had happened. 

“FOUL!”

“SEND HIM OFF! RED CARD!” Thomas was shouting.

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, opening his eyes.

“It’s what they give football players when they commit fouls,” Hermione supplied. “It means they are out of the game.”

“Ah,” Draco said nodding. 

“He couda knocked Harry outta the air!” Hagrid shouted.

“After that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating,” Jordan was loudly saying over the noise of the crowd. 

“Jordan!”

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul—”

“Jordan, I’m warning you!”

“All right, all right,” Jordan said. Draco could imagine him rolling his eyes. “Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m totally sure. Gryffindor will take a penalty shot. Spinet puts it away, no trouble!”

Draco watched Harry dodge another Bludger, which barely missed his head.  Hermione let out a pained sounded squeal and grabbed onto Draco’s arm. Draco failed to realize she was digging her nails into his arm, as he’d noticed Harry.  

“Bloody hell, how did I forget he almost got bucked off his broom,” Draco muttered watching Harry carefully. Draco had assumed it was Potter’s lack of flying experience on a proper broom that lead to this moment, but now he knew better. 

Someone was hexing the broom. Likely suspect: Quirrellmort. 

While the people around them wondered what was wrong with Harry’s broom, Hermione seized Hagrid’s binoculars (not noticing the fact she almost choked the man) and began looking through the crowd.

“There,” Draco said, pointing her. “They are both over there.”

“Snape.”

She handed the binoculars to Draco (Hagrid had managed to remove the strap from his neck). Draco noticed Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them, his eyes fixed on Harry and muttering nonstop under his breath. Draco quickly found Quirrellmort right behind Snape, doing the same thing. 

Snape was chanting the counter curse?

“Quirrellmo— Quirrell is right behind Snape,” Draco said. 

Hermione gave him a hard look. 

“So, which one is jinxing the broom and which one is doing the counter curse?”

“You know my guess, but to be safe let’s go do something about both of them,” Draco offered, handing the binoculars back to Hagrid.

“Where are you two— ”

Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her off.  The pair darted through the crowds, heading for Snape and Quirrellmort. 

“We need a distraction,” Hermione whispered as they got closer.

“I’ll push Quirrellmort over,” Draco volunteered, feeling something akin to vicious glee at the thought of pushing the Dark Lord over. “You can set Snape on fire with that blue fire you know how to make.” 

“Oh! Good thinking. Let’s go,” she said.

Draco went first and pushed hard against Quirrellmort’s back, knocking him into the front row. Hermione darted froward, going unnoticed by everyone as they were all wondering why Quirrellmort decided to face dive into the front row rather randomly. Draco was small enough to easily hide out of the way under the seats while everyone was wondering what was going on. Suddenly, a yelp of “Severus you’re on fire!” sounded. Within seconds, Hermione was back at Draco’s side, a jar of blue fire in her hands. 

Draco and Hermione moved away from the section Snape and Quirrellmort were causing chaos. When they were far enough along, they moved to see the pitch. Hermione grabbed Draco’s arm, squealing, “Oh! What’s he doing?”

Harry was dangling from his broom, which had stopped bucking. George and Fred were on their way up, but before they were anywhere near him, something caught Harry’s eye. He began to jerk to the left, his mouth opening and closing. 

“What is he doing? Is he eating air?” Draco asked.

Hermione giggled. “He looks like Packman.” 

Harry lunged forward, opening his mouth wide. Harry jerked and twisted, somehow managing to get back on his broom. With a look of determination on his face, Harry pelted at the ground fast, zooming right past the stunned looking Weasley twins. He all but crashed into the ground, rolling onto his back. Reaching one hand up, he pulled something out of his mouth, holding his hand high. 

“HE CAUGHT THE SNITCH!” Lee Jordan yelled loudly. “Or he tried to eat it.”

Hermione and Draco exchanged looks of stupefaction. 

“Does that count? Is it against the rules to, well, catch it with your mouth?”

“Nope. That was a legal catch. Might be the first time a Seeker tried to eat the Snitch, though,” Draco thoughtfully offered. “Let’s go meet him at the locker room.”


	21. Lull in the Storm

**Disclaimer: You know it, I do not own it. If you know it, it’s from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR.**

* * *

After the game, Harry appeared rather pale faced. Upon being asked what he needed, Harry requested a hot cup of tea. Hagrid, who had joined Draco and Hermione by the locker room, toted him off to his house for just that. After he had his strong cup of tea, Harry asked what had exactly happened.

“Well, we’re not sure,” Hermione began after looking at Draco. “Both Quirrell and Snape were doing the same thing.”

“One of them were cursing Harry’s broom. You know who my money is on,” Draco offered. 

“Rubbish,” Hagrid insisted. “Why would either of them do somethin’ like that?”

The trio all exchanged looks. 

“Well, one of them or both of them tried to get passed the three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit Snape. And I know about that because I accidentally saw the bitten leg.” 

Hagrid dropped the tea pot.

“How do you know about Fluffy?”

“Fluffy?” all three of them asked in unison.

“Yeah— he’s mine— bought him off a Greek chappie…”

“You bought that thing?” Draco asked. “And named it Fluffy?”

“I lent him to Dumbledore to guard—”

Hagrid stopped talking suddenly. 

“Yes?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Nothin’. Top secret, that is.”

“But either Snape or Quirrell is trying to steal it,” Harry insisted.

“Rubbish. They’re both professors. They’d do nothin’ of the sorts. Plus, Snape’s close to Dumbledore. He’d never do anything of the sort. Dumbledore trusts Snape, he does.”

Draco frowned deeply, guilt and anger suddenly filling him. And a bit of pity for the old coot. While Draco still was not his number one fan, the old man did not deserve the death he’d be dealt at the end of Snape’s wand. 

“Dumbledore trusts Snape?” Harry asked, looking baffled. “Snape tried to get passed the dog. He— ”

“Could have been checking to see if Quirrell had gotten passed the dog,” Hermione filled in. “I doubt Snape was trying to steal whatever the dog is guarding.” 

 By the look on Harry’s face, Draco knew he wanted to blame Snape. While Quirrell made the scar hurt, Snape was pretty much evil walking. He looked sinister, he was crabby and he terrorized everyone who crossed him. Quirrell stuttered people to death. 

Draco felt a warm glow that Hermione was putting more stock into his theory Quirrell was the bad one rather than siding with Harry. 

“Snape wouldn’t kill Harry,” Hagrid insisted.

“Oh, and Quirrell would?” Harry asked.

Hagrid frowned, realizing the hole in his argument. 

“No. He’s a professor,” Hagrid insisted. 

“I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid. I’ve read all about them and they were both keeping eye contact with Harry and not blinking. I’m sure the only reason the broom didn’t totally buck Harry off was because one of them was saying the counter curse at the same time.”

Draco shifted a bit in his seat. Hagrid looked livid and confused. 

“Ya lot are wrong. Yer wrong. I don’t know why Harry’s broom was actin’ up, but neither Quirrell or Snape would try to kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh— stop meddlin’ in things that don’t concern yeh. Yeh don’t need ta be going off and doin’ somethin’ dangerous. Just forget about the dog, forget what it’s gaurdin’ as that’s between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel— ”

“AHA!” Harry shouted. “So there’s a Nicolas Flamel involved!”

Hagrid looked furious with himself and kicked all three of them out.  

* * *

December snuck up on Draco. He was not sure how this had happened, but suddenly it was December and it was time to figure out if he wanted to stay or go home for winter break. He’d exchanged quite a few letters with his mother, who assured him his father still loved him and would welcome him home. 

Draco wasn’t so sure about that. 

Harry, meanwhile, did not seem to know what to do when the list came around for people staying for the holidays. 

“Are you staying?” Draco asked him as Harry stared at the list. 

“I don’t know. Your mum invited me to stay with you for the holidays, but you don’t seem to know if you’re staying or going,” Harry said very quietly. 

Harry had been getting letters on a regular basis. Draco never asked him what he wrote to his mother about, but he was a bit jealous. He had never shared his mother’s attention before and found it somewhat difficult. Draco knew Atlanta was a means to an end with his mother, and while she had some affection for her, it was not the same way as she viewed Harry. Harry was directly related to the British Blacks. Atlanta was so far removed she might as well be an alien from the planet Gordge. 

If Draco had to share, though, he would share with Harry. 

“She did? She didn’t tell me,” Draco said. 

“Did you read her last letter?” Harry asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“She invited me today. In the letter I got today.”

“What letter did you get yesterday?”

“One from, er, Remus Lupin. I’ve been writing him since your mum suggested it,” Harry said. “You know, about my parents. She didn’t know much. But said that Atlanta’s tutor was friends with my dad.” 

Draco cocked his head to the side. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Oh. That’s good.”

“Yeah. He’s actually sent a few photos he had from when they were at Hogwarts.”

Harry turned around and pulled out a book, opening it up to where he’d stored the photos. He handed them to Draco, explaining to him what they were.  Draco’s eyes fell on the pictures featuring Sirius Black, decked out in his Gryffindor scarf. 

Trade the black hair for blond and he could have been Draco. 

“That’s great, Harry,” Draco said. “These are awesome. I haven’t seen any photos like these of my parents when they were in school. I guess they really didn’t take photos for fun.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to go to my house for the holidays?” Draco asked, looking up. “If we stay here, we might be able to research Flamel and how to get Vo-Vol-Voldemort out of Quirrell’s head.” 

“You said his name,” Harry said, an odd look on his face. 

“I did.”

Draco looked around, half worried the man was going to leap out and curse him into the next world. 

Harry smiled. “Well, I don’t really care. It was nice of your mum to invite me. I feel like I ought to go.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t?” Harry asked, looking confused. “But, don’t you miss your family?”

“Yes,” Draco quickly answered. “But, I think figuring out what is hidden under the door, who Flamel is and getting Vo-Vold-Voldemort out of Quirrell is more pressing than spending the holidays with Mother and Father.” 

Harry frowned. “Well, if you’re staying, I’ll stay.”

Harry signed his name, Draco following suit. That afternoon, after classes he wrote his mother explaining he and Harry would remain at school as they had a project they needed to complete and needed the library at school. He suggested she ask the Headmaster if she could take them to Hogsmede for an afternoon so he could see her. After he sent the letter, he realized he’d need to think up some pressing project that they’d need to get done. 

* * *

Hermione went home for the holidays, leaving Draco alone with Harry to research Nicolas Flamel. Harry tragically was easily distracted as soon as the school cleared out. The twins were usually the prime suspects. The Weasleys remained at Hogwarts due to the fact their parents went to visit the dragon loving brother.

Draco made a mental note if Hagrid ended up with a dragon again, to make the twins contact this dragon loving brother ASAP. 

The twins and Harry would vanish for hours at a time and turn up laughing and slugging one another. Usually, after these hours with the twins, Harry was rather useless as all he wanted to talk about was whatever adventure the twins had taken him on. Draco heard all about the various secret passage ways, how the trio had snuck into Honeydukes and finally about the kitchens. 

“There is like a whole troop of House Elves down there,” Harry said one afternoon when Draco managed to snag Harry before the twins. “Do you have a whole fleet of them?”

“No. We have Dobby and Chipper,” Draco said. “Dobby is somewhat…strange. But he can cook.”

Harry made a humming noise. “What time are we meeting your mum?”

Narcissa had gotten permission for the boys to join her at Three Broomsticks for Christmas Eve dinner. They were to Floo to Three Broomsticks from McGonagall’s office. 

“Soon,” Draco replied, shutting yet another book. “I swear, I’ve heard Nicolas Flamel’s name before. Where did I hear it before?”

Harry shrugged, saying he was going to go change for dinner. Draco figured he ought to do something with his hair. He hadn’t cut it after deciding he was no longer going to glue it to his head, so it hung around his face. It had begun parting oddly, so it kind of swept across his forehead and hung in his eyes almost all the time. Or past his eyes. It was almost to his jaw these days. 

His mother would frown. 

“You need a hair cut, mate,” Harry commented when he caught Draco trying to figure out what to do with his hair.

“I know. Where do you get your hair cut at Hogwarts?” Draco asked. 

“No clue. I usually just hack at mine, as it doesn’t matter what I do, it looks like this,” Harry said, indicating to the mess of hair on his head that went every which direction. 

How did hair even grow naturally that way?

“Can I have your scissors?”

“You’re seriously going to hack at your own hair?”

Draco nodded. 

Draco was vain, but his hair was getting to the point of distraction and drastic action was called for. 

Harry returned shortly with a pair of silver scissors, which Draco took and hacked his hair off in a random manner. It was actually somewhat enjoyable. He felt as if he was loosing a weight off his back, shedding an old skin. 

He laughed when he saw the results. Harry, who looked torn between being horrified and laughing, quickly took the scissors and attempted to fix Draco’s hack job. 

“My aunt once cut my hair for me the day before school started because she couldn’t get it to lie flat. I had almost no hair except for my fringe, to hide the scar.” Harry bit his bottom lip and shrugged. “You look better than me.”

“How did you go to school with no hair?”

“It grew back by the morning,” Harry replied, leaving the bathroom. “My aunt was furious. I got a week in the cupboard.” 

Harry exited after this remark. Draco wondered what he meant by a week in the cupboard, but knew better than to ask when Harry was in a good mood. Or a bad mood. He only let things really slip about his childhood when he was either really mad or not thinking. 

He’d been not thinking.  

Draco vanished the hair all over the bathroom and stared at his reflection. Granted his hair would more than likely horrify his mother more than before, but at least he didn’t have to push it out of his face any more. Looking around, he found some sort of hair product that Finnigan had left behind. After using it, his new hair style looked like it’d been on purpose. 

Harry said nothing when Draco appeared in his “going to dinner” robes fifteen minutes later. They walked in silence down the hall to McGonagall’s office. McGonagall simply raised an eyebrow at Draco’s new hair style. Draco reminded Harry how the Floo worked and went first so Harry could see how it was done. 

Draco came spinning out of the fireplace, yet managed to stay on his feet. Harry flew out, landing on his stomach next to Draco. Draco picked him up and did a cleaning charm on the pair of them before turning to find his mother seated at a table already. She didn’t look horrified, if anything she looked amused. Taking a deep breath, Draco headed in her direction. 

“Mother,” he greeted, kissing her cheek. 

He sat down next to her. Harry, meanwhile, smiled and greeted her. He looked unsure what to do, so he bowed his head and sat down. 

“In meetings like this,” Naricssa began, “You usually give a kiss on the cheek or bow as you did.”

Harry looked relieved he’d done it right. 

“How have you boys been doing on your project?”

Draco, who had thought long and hard about what to tell her, decided to go with a half truth. 

“We’re researching Nicolas Flamel. He’s impossible to find,” Draco said.

“Yeah, we’ve looked in all sorts of books,” Harry added.

Naricssa frowned. “Who is he?”

“That’s our problem. We don’t know. That’s our job. To figure out who he is and what he’s contributed to the wizarding word,” Draco offered and Harry nodded. 

Narcissa hummed, looking like she knew they were up to something. 

“You’re father sends his tidings,” she said. “He is sorry he is too busy with work to attend this evening.”

Draco knew this was a lie. His father didn’t want to see him. 

“Give him my love,” Draco replied.

Harry shifted. “Tell him I said hello.”

It looked for a moment Narcissa was going to burst out laughing, but she quickly composed herself. 

“Now, boys, why don’t you fill me in on what you’ve been up to this year so far,” she began. “While your letters are lovely, I feel you leave things out.”

There was teasing to the manner she spoke. Harry instantly perked up and began to talk, telling her learning how to play chess with Seamus (who Draco figured was Finnigan, as he was sure Thomas was called Dean). 

“It’s so different than Muggle chess,” Harry said. “The pieces talk to you. I’m not any good. I keep listening to the pieces.”

By the end of the night, Draco felt relaxed and calm, two things he couldn’t remember ever feeling on Christmas Eve before. As a little kid, he was always overly excited. When he got older, the pressures of his station road on his head and Christmas was no longer “fun.” It was work— the balls, the socializing, the never ending sucking up to various pureblood girls he had no interest in and then the Dark Lord showed up and everything sucked in general. 


	22. Gifts That Keep Giving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and reviews, each is appreciated!

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Parts taken from _Philosopher’s Stone_ by JKR.**

* * *

“I’ve got presents.”

That statement woke Draco. It was the tone more than anything that caused Draco to drift out of slumber. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times at Harry. 

“Huh?” Draco said, feeling bleary. 

“I’ve got presents,” Harry repeated, crawling to the end of his bed, staring at the wide array of wrapped packages. 

“What did you except? Sacks of dung?”

Harry picked up the top parcel and turned it over in his hands. Draco fell backwards into his bed, then remembered he was eleven. He scrambled out of bed and yanked on his bathrobe, grabbing at his larger pile of presents. He threw the packages at Harry’s bed. Harry, meanwhile, was still studying the package in his hands wrapped in thick brown paper. He finally unwrapped it as Draco tossed the last present at Harry’s pillow. By the time Draco flung himself at Harry’s bed, Harry had unwrapped the package.

“It’s a flute,” Draco said. “Do you play?”

“Er, no,” Harry said, startling at Draco’s voice. “What are you doing?”

“Opening my presents with you,” Draco announced. “It’s what family and friends do on Christmas morning.”

Judging by Harry’s expression, this was a foreign concept. Draco quelled the outraged that welled up within him. Draco grabbed up a package, knowing it was from some relative and it was something useless. He unwrapped it and sure enough, it was something he would have no use for. He remembered getting it the first time around. 

“That’s friendly,” Harry muttered. 

“What is that?” Draco asked, pausing in unwrapping something from one of the last living Black relatives he had. 

“It’s a fifty pence piece,” Harry replied. “The Dursleys have never given me anything before. Why start now?”

“That’s an odd shape,” Draco commented, filing the comment on the Dursleys away for later. “May I?”

“You can keep it,” Harry said, handing over the piece of metal. 

Draco had never seen Muggle money before. It was fascinating. 

“Mrs. Weasley sent me a sweater,” Harry suddenly said, bringing Draco out of his reverie on the Muggle money. 

Harry was holding a thick, bottled green sweater. It looked to be handmade. There was also a large box of fudge near his knee. The packaging told Draco it had been made by Mrs. Weasley, not bought. 

Oddly, he didn’t want to sneer at this. In fact, he was oddly a little jealous. 

“That was nice of her,” Draco said, opening a package from someone that revealed dress robes of all things. How many robes did he need?

“Why would she make me a sweater and send me fudge?”

“Maybe the twins told her about you? You do spend a lot of time with them,” Draco pointed out. “Like when Hermione and I are studying in the library.”

Draco picked up a smaller package, frowning. He did not remember this one. It was book shaped and had the weight of a book. He tore at the odd paper (wizarding wrapping paper had moving objects, this paper was just shiny and red) to reveal a book. 

Someone got him a book? He looked back at the paper, the pieces falling into place. It was Muggle wrapping paper. He picked up the paper and noticed a card. 

_Thought this might be useful. Happy Christmas!_

_Love,_

_Hermione._

Of course. Hermione would give a useful book. He looked at the title. 

“ _Unmasking the Faceless_ ,” he muttered, feeling he’d heard that title somewhere. He flipped through the book and realized he had never read it. Yet, as he got to the middle of the book, he had a feeling why Hermione thought the book might be useful. “That girl is a freaking genius.”

“Huh?” Harry asked, staring up from an odd looking orange egg object. 

“This book,” Draco said, flipping more pages. “It is exactly what we need!”

“Is Flamel in it?”

“No. No, it talks about…spirits and…” he trailed off. “How did she find this book? She’s twelve.”

“She is? When is her birthday?” Harry asked.

Draco bit his lip. “I don’t remember. Shortly after we started school, I think.”

“I didn’t get her anything,” Harry said, looking panicked. “And I only got her jelly beans for Christmas!”

“Calm down. We’ll get the House Elves to make her a cake when she gets back. We’ll celebrate late,” Draco assured him. “But look! There is a potion in here that will force a spirit living in a human being out!”

Harry leapt up onto his knees. “We can give that to Quirrell!”

Draco felt the excitement dim as he read further. “It’s complicated.”

Even as a seventeen-year-old, he would feel a bit uneasy trying this potion. Also, it called for a lot of things first years would never have access to.

“What?”

“Well, it’s got a lot of ingredients. Takes a long time to brew too,” Draco admitted. 

“So? We still should try it, shouldn’t we?”

Draco glanced up. He thought quickly. He could try this potion or wait for Harry to go after whatever was under the trap door, because Harry would go after it. And it would be more dangerous than brewing a potion for sure. 

“What year are the twins?”

“Third years? Why?”

“Perfect. We can start this now,” Draco said, staring down at the book. “The ingredients needed to start we can obtain from the student stores. We can ask the twins to get the rest, as they are allowed to go to Hogsmeade.”

Harry nodded, sinking back to sit down. Draco set the book aside, decided he ought to finish opening his gifts. He opened the package from Atlanta. It was bigger than what he vaguely remembered getting from her. He tore the paper off. 

“Discman?”

“She got you a Discman?” Harry asked, his eyes large. “She gave me an orange egg thing that doesn’t even open!”

“What is it?” Draco asked, turning the box over. The box bright blue and had images of sort of black object that seemed to hold shiny disks. Harry jumped up and down next to Draco, excitedly explaining what a Discman was. Draco pried the box open and pulled out the object, which was packed in odd, lightweight white stuff Harry called styrofoam. Draco studied the stuff while Harry excitedly took the black thing and started pressing buttons. 

“Did she get you any CDs?”

Draco shrugged. He searched around and found another present from Atlanta. He opened it up and found an odd looking square that some long haired, oddly dressed Muggles on the cover. 

“The Beatles. Cool,” Harry said, breaking into the object, which was wrapped in some sort of clear material. Draco took it as soon as Harry cast it off and studied it. It was see through, but it wasn’t permeable. “ _Rubber Soul_. I don’t think I know this one. Here. It should work without batteries. Atlanta had a note inside that said it works with magic. Tap it with your wand.”

Draco whacked it with his wand. 

Nothing happened. 

“Put these on your ears.”

“Why would I need earmuffs?”

Harry smiled. “Trust me.”

Frowning, Draco took the earmuffs from Harry and put them on. Draco almost screamed when music was issuing out of the earphones. He didn’t know the song, but it was okay. It was different. Draco began to listen to the words, as usually Atlanta was trying to tell you something with lyrics of the odd songs she enjoyed. Draco was about to give up when he noticed Harry holding a package and frowning. Harry slowly unwrapped the package and looked surprised. 

Draco let out a gasp.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he announced loudly, yanking off the earmuffs. 

Draco was staring at something fluid and slivery that had slithered to the floor. The glimmering folds caught the weak, winter sunlight.

“What?” Harry asked, picking up the object. 

Draco couldn’t talk. 

That was how Potter had done it. That was how Potter was always able to get away with things, be places he shouldn’t and no one knew. It was how Potter had THROWN MUD AT DRACO THIRD YEAR WHEN POTTER WASN’T ALLOWED IN HOGMEADE.

“Draco, mate, you okay? You’re turning red.”

“Sorry. I’m…It’s an Invisibility Cloak.”

“A what?”

“An Invisibility Cloak,” Draco repeated. “They are very rare and really valuable. Was there a note with it? Who gave that to you?”

“Invisibility Cloak?” Harry asked, throwing the Cloak around his shoulders. 

Sure enough, Harry vanished perfectly from the neck down. Harry gasped, dashing across the room and into the bathroom. He stared into the mirror. 

“Whoa,” Harry breathed. 

Draco leaned over, noticing a note on the ground. He slowly picked it up, noting the narrow, loopy handwriting. He felt like he ought to know that handwriting. 

_Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A Very Merry Christmas to you._

That wasn’t helpful. 

“Harry?”

Harry was gone. Draco sighed. 

“There’s a note.”

Harry magically appeared right in front of Draco. He cast the Cloak off and snatched the note. A line appeared between his eyebrows as he read it. He looked back up at Draco. 

“Who would give me that? The only person I know who was friends with my dad is Remus,” Harry said. “And he’d sign it. And he sent me this.”

Harry picked up a book about Dark Creatures. He set it back down, reaching over and stroking the Cloak. Draco left him on his own, as he assumed that was the first thing of his parents that was tangible Harry had ever received. Draco finished unwrapping his last present (a new pair of leather gloves from his father) when the door to the dorm room burst open. Harry stuffed his Cloak under his covers and looked up. Draco turned around to find the twins standing in the doorway. 

“Happy Christmas!” they chimed together. 

“Hey, look, one of you got a Weasley sweater!” one of the twins, the one in the sweater with a large F on it, cried. 

He crossed the room and grabbed up the sweater. He studied it for a moment, then frowned.

“This sweater is better quality than ours,” he said, showing it to the twin in the G sweater. (Draco knew better to assume they were wearing the sweater that actually went with their given names.) 

G Sweater took the sweater. “Guess she puts more effort into them if you’re not family.”

G Sweater looked between the two boys and decided that the sweater belonged to Harry and put the sweater on over Harry’s head. F Sweater managed to get Harry’s arms through the armholes while Harry protested and tried to get away. Harry popped out, his hair crazier than usual and a disgruntled look on his face. 

“You haven’t got a letter on your sweater,” G Sweater observed. 

“I suppose she believes you know who you are. But we’re not stupid. We know who we are. He’s Gred and I’m Forge.”

Draco snorted. George grinned like a maniac, knowing Draco had figured out they were wearing the opposite sweater. 

“What’s all this noise?”

Prefect Weasley stood in the doorway, looking disapproving at all the noise the twins were making. He had a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred (also known as Gred) seized.

“P! For Prefect!” he shouted. “Get it on, Percy, come on. We’re all wearing ours. Even Harry has his on.”

“Harry?” Percy started, then stopped as Fred attempted to get the sweater on over his head. 

Prefect Percy had the advantage of height, but he quickly lost the battle when George joined in. Together, the twins forced the sweater over Percy’s head, knocking his glasses askew and pinning his arms to the side. Once the sweater was on, the twins began singing Christmas carols loudly and frog-marched Percy out of the room. 

Harry and Draco exchanged looks and burst out laughing. 

* * *

After being stuffed with food and having snowballs thrown at him for hours, Draco was ready to fall into a coma Christmas night. When he entered the dorm he found a contemplative Harry stroking the Invisibility Cloak gently, he knew he wasn’t going to be going to sleep any time soon.  

“Where are you going?”

Harry startled, turning to find Draco behind him. 

“Er— nowhere,” he lied badly. Draco communicated with his face he knew Harry was lying. “Fine, I don’t know. It’s just…use it well? And, well, it’s night, the castle is near empty and…the whole of Hogwarts is open to me! No one can see me. And it was my father’s. And Remus said he was a prankster, like the twins. He never told me they used this thing, but it makes sense. Think about it. He used it to sneak around the school. To go to the kitchens. Plan their pranks.”

Harry sounded almost like Bellatrix when she spoke of the Dark Lord or when Snape spoke about potions or the Dark Arts. 

“Well, what do you want to do? You should have a mission when you use it,” Draco pointed out. 

Harry glanced at his bed, which was still full of presents. Draco hadn’t moved his off the bed, nor had Harry put his away. The floor around the bed was full of wrapping paper. Draco frowned at the floor wondering why the House Elves hadn’t cleaned it up at some point. 

When Draco looked up, Harry was wearing his mischievous smile while holding the book Hermione had given Draco. The mischievous smile was beginning to make sense the more Draco heard about James Potter. If James Potter was anything like the twins, Harry had it in his blood to get into trouble and love mischief. 

“Oh,” Draco breathed, realizing what Harry wanted to do. “Can we both fit under there?”

“I think it’s big enough,” Harry allowed. 

There was a look about him that Draco couldn’t place, but he had a feeling Harry wanted to go out alone under the Cloak that had once belonged to his father. 

“I don’t have to go. You can go alone. I’ll, er, write where they might be in the cabinet.”

Draco quickly went to his trunk and took out a piece of parchment. 

“Are all of them going to be in the cabinet?”

Draco opened the book and read the list of ingredients. He noticed a few that were needed for phase one that wouldn’t be in the cabinet, but Snape’s private store.

“I can teach you the unlocking charm,” Draco offered. 

Instead of answering, Harry threw the Cloak over Draco. Harry took a step closer to him and said, “We both fit. There’s even room for maybe another person.”

“This thing is huge,” Draco commented. Now that he was under it, there was even room for another two people. 

Harry grinned again. “Let’s see if we can walk together.”

They went back and forth a few times in the dormitory before agreeing they had it down enough to sneak around the halls after curfew. The stairs to the Common Room were tricky, but they both got down and out the portrait hole.

“Who’s there?” squawked the Fat Lady.

Draco jerked his thumb, and they both headed for the stairs and traveled down to the dungeons. It took forever. They dodged Mrs. Norris several times. She couldn’t see them with her freaky eyes, but she could smell them. Draco was a ball of tight nerves by the time they reached the potions classroom. The door was locked, but Draco easily unlocked it. 

“We can move better without the Cloak on,” Draco whispered, handing the book to Harry. “The first five things will be in the cupboard. I’ll get the rest.”

Harry nodded, pulling the Cloak off and stuffing it into his pocket. Draco headed to the door  to the private storeroom. During class the room was almost always open, but Draco figured it was warded and locked when Snape wasn’t swooping around. He did a few spells to see what the wards were, but he didn’t find any serious ones. However, they were all keyed to Snape, so after Draco broke them, Snape would be alerted. Watching Harry, he waited till Harry was almost done before he broke the wards and unlocked the door. He darted in, eyes scanning quickly for what he needed. He was lucky Snape was anally organized. Everything was in alphabetical order. He quickly grabbed what he needed, measuring it out into the glass vials and sticking the jars back where he’d gotten it. He was done within a minute and back outside before Harry had finished shutting the student storage cabinet. 

Draco had no time to restore the wards, so he locked the door with a complicated locking charm he had learned for his NEWTS he never took.

“Let’s go. He’ll know someone was in there,” Draco said. 

Harry looked panicked and quickly threw the Cloak over them. No sooner had they vanished under the Cloak, the door banged open and Snape swept into the room, eyes roaming for whoever had broken the wards. Draco urged Harry to move to the left. They moved in time not to be hit by Snape as he stroad to the storeroom. They edged out of the room quickly. Draco was thankful Snape failed to shut the classroom door. Once they were in the hallway, they continued till Draco managed to find an open classroom door. He opened it and they slipped in.

“We’ll wait here till he’s done. There’s no way we can get out of here fast—”

Draco stopped speaking. They could hear a door burst open, Snape curse several times, and another door slammed. Shortly they heard Snape’s footsteps as he headed back to where ever he’d come from. Luckily, it happened to be in the opposite direction of the classroom Harry and Draco were hidden. Draco looked at Harry, who was breathing heavily and pale. 

“Is it safe?”

“I think so. We’ll need to move extra slowly,” Draco added. “And if you know any shortcuts, it’d be welcomed.”

Harry nodded. Draco took a step forward, but felt the Cloak sliding off him. He stopped, turning around to see why Harry wasn’t moving.

“Was that always here?” Harry asked, eyeing a mirror that was sitting in the corner of the classroom. 

The mirror was rather ornate. It was gold and the only thing not covered in dust in the unused room. Harry came out from under the Cloak and walked towards it. Draco followed slowly, feeling something was off about the claw-footed mirror, besides the fact it wasn’t covered in layers of dust like everything else in the room. The floor was very dusty. The only disturbance in the dust were the footprints left by Draco and Harry. 

Harry stood stock still in front of the mirror for a moment before he clapped his hand to his mouth, whirling around to look behind him. His green eyes were very wide. Draco looked around, wondering what Harry had seen. Harry turned back towards the mirror and walked closer to it. 

“Harry?”

“There’s people there,” he said faintly. 

Harry cocked his head to the side, carefully studying whatever he saw in the mirror. He stood very still for a very long time, watching whatever was reflected in the mirror. 

“Mum? Dad?” 

Draco froze. The mirror reflected dead people? Draco inched closer to study the mirror. He was careful not to be reflected in the mirror, as to not disturb whatever Harry saw or see dead people. Along the top of the golden frame, there were words carved: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi.

What language was that? 

Draco stared at Harry, who had a strange look on his face. He pressed his hands flat to the glass and looked like he wanted to fall through the mirror and into the image that he was seeing. It freaked Draco out. 

“Harry?” Draco asked. When he got no response from Harry, he tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. That mirror is creeping me out.”

Harry suddenly snorted. “You said creeping!”

“What?”

“You just said _what_ instead of _excuse me_!”

Draco fumed for a moment. He did not need speaking lessons from Harry Potter. 

“Well, I will try not to speak like you. Let’s go. We need to get to bed,” Draco insisted, yanking on Harry’s sleeve again. “Snape is long gone.”

“All right, all right,” Harry said. “Did you look in the mirror?”

“No. What did you see?”

“My family. I was wondering if you saw them,” Harry said quietly, picking the Cloak up from where it’d fallen. He shook the dust off of it before throwing it over their heads. “We can come back tomorrow and you can see them. My mum was pretty. She had red hair and really green eyes. And my dad does look just like me!” 

Draco didn’t say anything, just pushed Harry toward the door. 


	23. Potion Brewing in a Bathroom With a Ghost

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I still fail to own it.**

* * *

The next morning Draco started brewing and he knew the perfect place: Myrtle’s toilet. 

It had been the perfect sanctuary for him during that horrid sixth year. No one went in there due to Myrtle. Well, except for Potter, but Potter tended to go places he shouldn’t. And this time around, Harry wasn’t about to burst in and attack. Draco had a feeling Myrtle might like Harry. 

Everyone liked Harry. And Potter. Though, Draco found Harry a lot more likable than Potter.

If that made sense. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as he carried the transfigured cauldron. He was staring at the glass ball he was carrying.

“There is a toilet on the second floor haunted by a ghost of a girl. I think she died there. She cries and whines a lot, but if you’re nice to her and don’t tell her she’s ugly or dead, she’s all right.”

“Really? How do you know if she lives in the girl’s loo?”

“Mother told me,” Draco quickly lied. 

Draco and Harry reached the bathroom, never coming across another soul. Draco looked around, making sure there wasn’t anyone around. He pushed the door open wide and waited for Harry to hurry in. After he was in, Draco closed the door and threw the lock. He ought to make an out of order sign. Just in case. 

Harry handed him the glass ball. Once the glass ball was out of his hands, Harry began looking around the bathroom. One good thing about Harry, while he was inquisitive, he didn’t have to know every little thing about the magic Draco performed or why he knew it. Draco mused Harry must be getting use to Draco doing odd things, as he hadn’t even asked him how he had transfigured the cauldron into a glass ball. Draco hoped Harry assumed it was like making a match into a needle. 

Draco pushed one of the stalls open, frowning. After cleaning the toilet and stall with a simple cleaning spell, he conjured the nifty blue flames Hermione was known for and set the cauldron up. While he wasn’t as good at the spell as Hermione, he was okay. 

“Cool,” Harry breathed, watching Draco. “I didn’t even think how we were going to heat it.”

“Those blue flames actually stay on top of the water. And since I’m not that good, they won’t be that hot. This means the flames are good for a slow simmering potion.”

Harry nodded. 

“Water.”

Harry handed the vial of water to Draco, who added it to the semi heated cauldron. Draco began to add the other things till he reached the wolfsbane.

“Okay, we wait at least four days before we add the rest of the stuff. Then it’ll be two months,” Draco grumbled, glancing at the written instructions he’d copied out of the book. “Then, we’ll need the stuff we can’t get. Like dried doxies. And sneezewort. Oh, and the tears of a mandrake will be hard to get.”

“A what?”

“Mandrake. They’re like…human plants. They only cry as babies. We’ll have to make a list for the twins. What are we going to tell them?”

“I don’t know. We could tell them we plan to expel the turban?”

“Expel the turban? That’s all you got?”

Harry shrugged. Draco stalked out of the stall. He was actually shocked they hadn’t run into Myrtle. Harry followed him till they were standing in front of the sinks. Draco washed his hands, then cleaned the sink and washed his hands again. He paused, staring at the tap. 

“What the…”

“Excuse me?” Harry mockingly said from behind him. 

Draco ignored him. “There’s a snake on that one.”

He quickly looked at the others. There were no snakes on any of the other taps. Just that one. Draco went back and investigated. 

“Why is there a snake on this one, but none of the others?”

Harry pushed Draco over and stared at it. Then he hissed. Draco leapt away, stumbling a bit. Harry looked up, blinked and peered at Draco in confused. 

“What?”

“You…you…” he trailed off. 

How had he forgotten Harry Potter could speak to snakes? He was a Parselmouth! 

“Draco?”

“You—you’re a Parselmouth,” Draco all but shouted at Harry. 

“A what? A Parselmouth?”

“You can talk to snakes,” Draco supplied. “You hissed at the snake.”

“I did?” Harry asked, looking at the tap again. He hissed again. He gripped the side of the sink, tilting his head to the side. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“That snake moved. It looked at me. I swear to god, it looked at me,” Harry insisted, backing up suddenly. 

“What did you say?”

“Well, first I said it was interesting, then the second time when I looked at it, I asked it if, well, if it did anything special. What was that? He just looked at me.”

“It didn't talk back, did it?”

“No.”

“All right,” Draco said, feeling a bit out of sorts. “There’s, er, a myth that Salazar Slytherin hid a chamber called, cleverly, the Chamber of Secrets with a monster in it somewhere in Hogwarts. It’s never been found. Or so they say.”

“And this snake made you think of that?”

Draco nodded. “Let’s go. If you start hearing voices in your head, let me know.”

He added the last part because if Slytherin had a monster, it’d be a snake type of monster more than likely and only Harry would be able to hear it hissing. 

“Oh! You are boys! What are you doing here?”

Harry startled, whirling around. Draco smiled sheepishly.

“Hello, Myrtle,” he said politely. “We were just admiring your toilet here. And this sink.”

Myrtle frowned, noticing which sink Draco was near. 

“That one never worked,” she commented. “Why are you really here? Thought it’d be great fun to make fun of Myrtle?”

“No!” Draco insisted, holding his hands up. “Just admiring your bathroom. We’ll be back, don’t worry. We’ll visit later.”

Draco grabbed Harry, dragging him out of the bathroom and back to Gryffindor Tower. 

* * *

The rest of Christmas break passed quietly. Harry behaved strangely for a few days. He looked tired and refused to take part in anything remotely fun. He even refused the trip to Myrtle’s toilet to add the next ingredients. Draco did it on his own and had a long conversation with Myrtle about her toilet in general. Nothing strange had been happening from what she could tell and she had great fun telling Draco about her death. 

She had heard a boy. Hissing. Then she looked out to tell him to get lost, she was busy crying her eyes out because Olive Hornby was a bitch and died.

Draco had no idea how she had died, but by the time he left, he was pretty sure the snake tap somehow led to the mysterious Chamber of Secrets. It made sense, as the wall the messages had been written on in his second year was outside the door to the bathroom. Walking slowly back to the Gryffindor Tower, he was deep in thought when he ran head first into Harry. 

“Oh, there you are,” Harry said, looking rather drained. He had dark rings around his eyes and his eyes even looked dimmer than usual. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the library.”

“Why?”

“I want to know more about Parselmouth.”

“Parseltounge,” Draco corrected. “That’s what it’s called as a language. There’s not much to know. It’s a magical gift. It’s seen as Dark, though.”

“Dark?”

“Yeah. It’s associated with Slytherin. He’s the most famous Parselmouth next to Voldemort,” Draco reported. 

Harry’s eyes went wide. “What? How come I’m one?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not a common gift, but it’s not unheard of. Just don’t go around telling people. It might seem strange since it’s, well, you.”

“Dark?”

“It doesn’t make you Dark,” Draco insisted. “I’m sure somewhere in your family tree there was a branch that was a known carrier of Parselmouth that died out at some point. Wizading family trees are a nightmare, as you well know. You’ve seen the Black family tree.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. But…Voldemort was one?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. He was.”

Harry frowned. 

“We should do some more research on Flamel before Hermione gets back tomorrow,” Draco suggested. He tugged Harry’s sleeve. “You know she will be horrified if we haven’t found anything at all.” 

Harry nodded. He quietly followed Draco to the library. He remained quiet and distant the entire afternoon. Near dinner time, Draco shut his last book and sighed. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Harry stared at Draco, shifted into his seat and sighed deeply. 

“I went back to the mirror and Dumbledore caught me,” Harry announced. 

Draco hadn’t been expecting that. 

“And since I stopped, I’ve been having those nightmares again. The flash of green light, the high pitched laughter. And the scar prickling.”

Harry rubbed his forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “Dumbledore explained to me that mirror shows your deepest desire. Seeing my family, all of them, is my deepest desire. He told me that it could drive the happiest man mad. I can understand. I can’t forget about the mirror.”

“Did he move it?”

“Yes. He said he was going to. I haven’t been back to the classroom since he caught me.”

“He didn’t give you detention or anything?”

“No. He said it did not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,” Harry replied, dropping his hand from his scar. 

That sounded like Dumbledore. 

“I hate to say it, Harry, but that sounds like sound advice,” Draco said. “Let’s go to dinner. Hermione will be back tomorrow and we can tell her about all our success.”

“Excuse me?”

Harry was grinning as he said it. Draco laughed, shaking his head. The boys walked out of the library, heading for the Great Hall for dinner. While they were no closer to figuring out what was hidden or who Nicolas Flamel happened to be, at least they’d figured something out to get Voldemort out of Quirrell’s head. Hopefully it’d work. 


	24. Finding Nicolas

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it. Select bits from _Philosopher’s Stone_.**

* * *

Hermione returned to the castle the next afternoon. Draco or Harry had not figured out who Nicolas Flamel by the time she returned. While this caused her to frown, but she was thrilled they’d started the potion. 

“Oh, I knew you were clever, Draco! I thought it might be too hard for you to brew, though. It’s above NEWT level,” she whispered excitedly, staring into the cauldron in Myrtle’s bathroom. 

“Well, it wasn’t that hard. It’ll just take awhile,” Draco lied. 

It had been difficult and he hadn’t even started the hardest part. The potion was currently at the brewing stage between major ingredient adds and Draco still needed to check daily to insure it was at the right temperature and hadn’t turned lime green. He assumed if it got to hot, it’d turn lime green. The directions did not say why to watch for lime green, other than it was useless if it turned lime green. 

It was currently bright purple. 

“How are you going to get the rest of the ingredients?” Hermione asked. “Half these things I haven’t heard of.” 

Draco cleared his throat, shifting uneasily. “I told the twins we were going to prank Quirrell.”

He waited for her to explode.

“Oh, good idea. They can go to Hogsmeade because they’re in third year.”

Draco gaped at her for a long moment. 

“What?” she asked, looking indignant. “In a manner of speaking, if Quirrell isn’t possessed by Voldemort like you believe, it’ll be like throwing smelly water on him. Not that he smells good to begin with. It might be an improvement.”

“He doesn’t need to drink it?” Draco asked. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, holding her hand out for the book. Draco moved out of the stall and fished the book out for her. Handing it to her, they walked over to the sinks. She found what she wanted and read, “When you are ready to make the spirit show itself, throw the liquid on the area the manifestation is the strongest. If the possessed’s behavior is altered and no physical signs show, internal digestion of potion is needed. If the spirit shows itself in a physical manifestation on the possessed, all that is needed is to soak the manifestation in the potion. Results should follow within ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? He could kill us by then!”

Visions of an angered Voldemort throwing torture curses filled Draco’s mind. Hermione, never been hit by the Cruciatus Curse, failed to realize how long ten minutes could drag on. 

“Do you know anyone who can carve wood?” Hermione asked, flipping more pages. “I’m not sure, but I think if we can get wood discs and carve this symbol into it, it won’t be able to possess us.”

Draco wasn’t worried about possession, he was worried about the wrath. 

“Though, it claims the expelled spirit won’t be able to possess another human for at least six months, but to wear these as a precaution.”

She handed the book back to Draco, who looked down at the picture. It was a disc with a simple rune carved into it. 

“Where did you get this book?” Draco asked. He began to flip more pages to see if there were any suggestions on how to protect yourself from a curse throwing spirit. 

“This is going to sound strange, but it fell at my feet. I was in the bookstore— a Muggle bookstore, mind you— and it appeared. I tripped over it and freaked out, till I found myself in the Humor section. Muggles who read this book think it is a joke. I looked through it and knew it was real. When I saw the potion, I knew I had to give it to you. I mean, you’re the one who thinks Quirrell is possessed by Voldemort.”

“It appeared at your feet?” Draco asked. 

She nodded. “I wouldn’t have looked twice at it except the cover was moving for me. No one else could see it moving in the shop.”

Draco felt suspicious, but stranger things had happened. Like traveling back to the past and finding himself in his eleven year old body. 

“So, you paid Muggle money for this? The store sold it to you?”

“Yes. It seemed like a godsend,” she offered. “I wanted to get you a Muggle book to further your education on Muggles, but this seemed more important.” 

Draco knew she did not realize how much of a godsend this book happened to be. He carefully put it back into his bag. The pair walked out of the bathroom, heading back to Gryffindor Tower. They were almost to the portrait hole when it burst open and Harry came flying out and collided with Draco. Draco and Harry toppled to the ground.

“You know, Harry, I am very happy to see you as well, but what gives?”

“I FOUND HIM!” Harry shouted, waving something around as he jumped to his feet. 

He was too excited to speak clearly or explain what he was talking about. He danced around while Draco, with Hermione’s unneeded but not unwanted aid, got to his feet.

“Harry, calm down. We don’t understand,” Hermione chided.

“I found him! Nicolas Flamel! I knew I had seen that name! Ten pin bowling!” 

It took Draco a moment to realize he as holding a Chocolate Frog card. 

“OH!”

Draco grabbed the card from Harry and a picture of the crooked nose headmaster smiled up at him. He flipped the card over and read the back. “‘Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.’”

“Where does ten pin bowling come into play?” Hermione asked, looking at Harry who was still doing his Dance of Winning. 

“Dumbledore enjoys ten pin bowling. And knitting patterns,” Draco said, handing the card to her. 

Frowning, Hermione took the card and stared at it, her eyes suddenly going wide.

“OH!”

Without another word, she sprinted off. Harry stopped dancing. 

“Stay there!” they heard her yell as she got further away. 

Exchanging looks, Draco and Harry remained where they were. Draco explained the discs Hermione suggested they make since it might take ten minutes for the potion to work after they threw it at the back of Quirrellmort’s head. 

“Hagrid could do that. We could tell him we just wanted them for our…club,” Harry tried. “Do you wizards form clubs?”

“Yes. We do all the time. What is our club name?” Draco asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. 

“Well, it should tie in with whatever this looks like,” Harry said, turning the book in his hands. “What do you think she’s getting?”

“A book. It’s a good guess she’s getting a book,” Draco assured. “Well, it kind of looks like a circle and triangle together.”

“Cirangle Club.”

“Fine. Why are we forming a club?”

“Er, I don’t know. Why else would we want these things made?”

“Hermione read they were for protection and she was rather insistent we have them made for when we go to home for the summer, since we can’t use magic. Hermione is paranoid.”

“Oh. I guess that would work. Would they protect us?”

“From magic? No. But, we’re first years. Plus, I doubt Hagrid will ask you too many questions,” Draco reminded Harry. 

“Here! Here!” a breathless Hermione shouted, rounding the corner. She had an enormous old book in her arms. She came to a stop, panting. She thrust the book at Draco, who took it. It took her five minutes to recover from her mad dash. “I got that for some light reading.”

“Light?” Harry asked, eyeing the book. 

“This is the opposite of light,” Draco offered. The book was close to a ton. 

Hermione held her hands out with an impatient air. Draco handed her the book. She began to flip pages, a look of excitement on her face. 

“Oh! I’m right! I knew it!”

“What?”

“I read about this stone earlier and even told you!”

Draco and Harry exchanged looks. 

Shaking her head, she quickly read them a passage from the book about the Philosopher’s Stone. Harry’s mouth dropped open. 

“So, that’s what Dumbledore had Hagrid get?”

Hermione looked around the empty hall. She jerked her head to the left and the three hurried off to find an empty classroom to talk in. Once they were locked inside, Hermione said, “Yes. I think it must be. It makes sense if they worked together on other projects. But, why would they move the stone from Gringotts?”

“Anyone would want that,” Harry breathed. “But…why would Voldemort want that stone?”

“Really, Harry? If what Draco says is really the truth, I doubt Quirrell can live properly with Voldemort inside him. A human body isn’t meant to carry another living thing. With that stone…”

“He could live again in his own body,” Draco said in a dead tone. “The gold is just a lucky side effect.” 

The three fell silent. 

“So, now what are we going to do?” Harry asked. 

“We’re going to watch Quirrell and Snape,” Draco decided. “And make sure that dog is still breathing. We’ve got till mid-February before we can add the final ingredients. The next Hogsmede trip isn’t until early February. We’ll just make it. Then, it’ll have to brew for another month. Or until it’s blue. Not lime green.”

“So, till then we’re sitting ducks?” Harry asked. 

“I doubt we’re sitting ducks. Something will happen,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. 

* * *

Nothing happened. 

Harry had a bit of a scare when it was found out Snape was going to referee the next Quidditch game. He spent a great deal of time stressing about it. He announced one afternoon after Potions he was sure Snape could read minds. Draco felt it best not to tell Harry in a manner, Snape could read his mind if he made direct eye contact. 

All Harry’s worry was for not, as the game was over before it started. Gryffindor won the game in less than five minutes. Of course, in that five minutes, Neville managed to get into a fight with Nott, Crabbe and Goyle. Draco was sure the fight wouldn’t happen because Draco wasn’t as stupid as Weasley or as short tempered. Draco could prefectly ignore Nott’s less than creative jabs at Harry. Clearly, Neville had gotten brave somehow since Draco had last seen him, as Nott’s jab about Harry spotting money on the ground set Neville off. 

Neville ended up in the Hospital Wing after the game, while Draco sported a split lip from trying to help. 

“Honestly. What got into you two?” Hermione asked while she and Draco sat in the Hospital Wing while Madam Pomfrey tended to Neville. She tutted quite a few times, ignoring Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, who were all sporting various bruises that they were pretending were worse than they were. 

“You three out! How dare you attack this boy! Out!” she yelled, pointed a finger at the Slytherins. 

Draco held in a snicker as Nott shouted, “My father will hear about this.”

“What can his father do?” Draco asked.

“Isn’t his father Jacob Nott?”

“Yes.”

“Well, his father is retired, but still holds his seat on Wizengamot and he is the Head of the Ancient and Nobel House of Nott. Isn’t there some sort of powerful council that gives them a seat on something. A kin the House of Lords?”

Draco blinked at her. She gave off a huff of annoyance. 

“Yes, dear,” Madam Pomfrey answered. “There is something akin to the Houses of Parliament in our world. Heads of Ancient Families are automatically given a seat. The Council of Wizards. Before the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Council’s power was lessened.”

“It’s for mostly show now,” Draco added. “Wizengamot has more power now. As do the departments.”

“You’re making my head hurt,” Neville grumbled. 

Madam Pomfrey finished tending to Neville and sent him on his way. Hermione, Draco and Neville were heading to the tower when Harry came flying into the Entrance Hall, his cheeks red and his hair crazier than usual. His green eyes were shining and almost scared looking.

“Guys! Guys! Guys!” he shouted. “Toilet! Toilet!”

“You need a toilet?” Neville asked, looking confused to why Harry was now pounding up the stairs when there was a boy’s toilet off the Great Hall. 

“Myrtle!”

“OH!” Draco and Hermione shouted together, understanding what Harry was trying to tell them. 

“Go to the Tower, Neville and tell everyone we’re on our way,” Draco said to Neville before hurrying after Hermione, who had taken off and almost caught up to Harry who was jogging down towards the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. Neville looked like he didn’t want to do as he was asked, but he nodded. 

“You’ll tell me later?”

“Yes. Thanks, Nev!”

Draco clapped him on the back and ran off. 

When Draco entered the bathroom, Harry was jumping up and down. He launched into his story right away, not bothering to breath.

“So, I left the locker room and was on my way back here with my broom when I saw this hooded figure heading for the Forest, so I jumped on my broom and followed because it looked weird and then I got into a tree and it turned out the hooded figure was Snape and he was meeting Quirrellmort and Snape started talking about the Stone and how we aren’t supposed to know and Quirrellmort stuttered a lot and Snape asked him if he knew how to get passed the dog, but Quirrellmort stuttered then Snape said he didn’t want to be Quirrellmort’s enemy and Quirrellmort stuttered and finally Snape said Quirrellmort needed to figure out where his loyalties were and Snape left and Quirrellmort just stood there looking freaked out. Then I left.” 

Harry collapsed on the floor. Hermione looked petrified. Draco felt confused. 

“Okay, so we figured out the stone. We got that right. What is Snape playing at?” Draco asked the bathroom in general. 

“He said something about ‘hocus-pocus.’ I don’t know what he meant by that.” 

“Who did?”

“Snape. Quirrellmort stuttered the whole time and didn’t actually put a sentence together,” Harry reported, slightly breathless still. 

“Quirrell could have done some sort of anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through,” Hermione offered.

Draco snorted.

“So, the only thing standing between Snape and the Stone is Quirrellmort?”

“NO!” Draco shouted. “I don’t think Snape is after the stone. I think he believes Quirrellmort is after the stone. Think about it!”

He needed them to believe him. If they went after Snape, all was lost. 

“Who would suspect the poor, stuttering fool scared of his own shadow? Snape is more likely to be a suspect. Maybe Quirrellmort did something to make people think Snape is after the stone!”

“Draco, I know the guy’s your godfather—”

“That has nothing to do with it,” Draco snapped. “I don’t believe Snape is after the stone. He doesn’t need it, for one. He’s not materialistic and he has no desire for immortality. Most wizards don’t. Living forever is overrated.” 

“Oh, you’d say that.”

The three turned to find Myrtle zooming out of her stall. Draco moved away from her before she could fly through him. 

“You living think it’s all great and dandy till you actually DIE!” she shouted.

She began shrieking, crying and the toilets began to flood. Quickly, the trio left. 


	25. So...You Named It

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is highly likely from _Chamber of Secrets_ and thus, I do not own it.**

* * *

In the weeks that followed, nothing changed. Quirrellmort proceeded to stutter, Snape carried on in his bad temper and Fluffy continued to growl on the other side of the locked door. Draco did note that there was a heavy lock on the door that had been absent the night they’d wound up “hiding” with Fluffy from Flich.  

The twins happily got the remaining ingredients, keen on the fact Draco planned to prank Quirrellmort. Pranking Quirrellmort had become the twins favorite pastime. The twins were behind the charmed snowballs following Quirrellmort around, repeatedly hitting him in the back of the turban. Draco snickered each time he happened upon Quirrellmort and his snowballs. When the snowballs had been destroyed, cloves of garlic had taken to following Quirrellmort doing the cha-cha.  

After getting their hands on the last ingredients, the trio anxiously waited for the potion to finish. Hermione spent the time Harry and Draco were staring at the potion drawing up revision sessions and color-coding her notes. Draco felt they had bigger things to worry about than exams, like how to get the turban off Quirrellmort’s head. 

February had melted away into March. Hermione continued to press on about exams and Draco began to wonder if the potion would ever turn the right shade of purple. For a potion that was meant to expel something that might be dangerous, why did it take so long to brew?

“What does this smell like?” Draco asked, hoping to distract Harry and Hermione from their argument on exams one afternoon in late March. 

“Dirty socks,” Harry offered. “Or my cousin’s feet.”

Draco snorted. Hermione slammed her book shut and began shoving things into her bag. 

“How does it look? I need to go to a Ravenclaw Exam Study session,” she said, sounding breathless. “I am so excited for exams! And our second year! Think about all we will learn!”

“It looks fine. I think it’ll be ready on time,” Draco said. “But we— ” 

“Brilliant! I’ll text you later,” Hermione said hurriedly and with a bang of the door she was gone.

“Text you?” 

“It’s what she’s taken to calling it when she writes me on that parchment we spelled,” Draco explained. “Remind me to make you one. You need one.”

Harry shrugged. He did not seem to mind nicking Draco’s parchment to contact Hermione. And Harry was almost always able to simply find Draco when they weren’t together. 

It was kind of…freaky.  

“Since you attract trouble, it might be useful,” Draco joked. “Someday your skill of simply finding me might fail. I’d hate to be unable to save you because you can’t fine me.” 

Harry snorted. 

Draco shut the stall door, hung the out of order sign and picked up his bag. About to suggest they head to dinner, Draco stopped when he notice Harry standing near the Snake Sink. Feeling his stomach drop a bit, he warily watched Harry.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “It’s just…well, I can talk to snakes, yeah?”

“Yes,” Draco slowly said. 

“And there is a snake here and I swear to god it moved,” Harry went on, almost pressing his nose to the tap. He hissed something. He jumped back as the sink tap seemingly hissed back. He turned to Draco, his eyes bright. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes. Now, let’s go.”

“You said there was a myth about the Chamber of Secrets?” Harry asked. Draco found himself nodding even though he did not want to. “I think this might be a way in. It told me it was a door.”

Harry turned back to the tap and hissed again before Draco could stop him. Suddenly the sink began moving. Harry stumbled backwards, falling over. Draco froze, eyes wide. The sink moved to the side, revealing a large hole in the wall.  

“Oh, would you look at that,” Myrtle said, coming out of her stall. “What is that?”

“It’s the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets!” Harry said excitingly. “Let’s go.”

“Did you miss the part about the monster?” Draco asked, his voice breaking.

“There is a monster,” Myrtle insisted. “There has to be. There was a boy who hissed like that and I died. I doubt he killed me. There were shinning eyes. That’s all I remember. Then I died.”

Harry gave Myrtle a look, but turned back to the entrance. 

“Come on, Draco! No one else can get in, right? Just think what might be hidden down there.”

“Yeah, a monster,” Draco said in an embarrassingly high voice. 

Harry snorted. “There’s no way there’s a monster under there. Why would Slytherin leave a monster?”

“Oh, I don’t know…because he was insane?” 

“Where is your sense of adventure?” Harry asked, looking back at the hole in the wall. 

“Antarctica,” Draco snapped. “Shut that door and let’s go.”

Harry inched closer to the entrance. He had a strange air about him as he stuck his head down the hole. Then, without another word, he vanished. Draco shouted something that wasn’t a word, but wasn’t a girly sounding scream and ran to the hole. There was a large pipe that lead downwards into nothingness and several smaller pipes branching off in all directions, allowing whatever was in the Chamber of Secrets access to the entire school. Draco stared down into the never ending darkness, waiting to hear Harry either shout or the crunch as he broke his head open. 

“Draco! It’s a slide!” Harry’s voice came up, echoing a bit. “The landing’s kind of hard. And slimy. But come on!”

Draco stood stock still, feeling sick. 

“I can go with you, if you want, Draco,” Myrtle cooed, giving Draco what he assumed she thought was a flirty smile. “I’ll look out for the monster. It can’t kill me again.”

“No,” Draco said. 

Myrtle got a rather vindictive look about her and flew right through Draco. The shock of his insides freezing cause Draco to stumble and lose his balance. He fell head first down the slide. It was indeed slimy and gross. He was sure he could have thrown up a few times and never noticed. He came to an unbecoming stop at the bottom, landing in a heap. 

“I hate you,” he muttered at Harry, who he could feel standing somewhere off to his right. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry assured, dragging Draco to his feet. “Do your cleaning spells and you’ll be fine.”

“I hate you,” Draco repeated between clenched teeth. “How on earth will we get back up?”

Harry’s face fell as he looked at the slide. He’d lit his wand. He wandered over to the slide and stared up at it. It was a long ways down, as there was only a tiny pin prick of light from the hole they’d come through. 

“There must be another entrance. We’ll find it through exploration!”

Harry was mental. 

“Come on, this way.”

Harry took off down the darkened corridor. Draco cast his cleaning spells silently, then lit his wand. The sight that greeted him made him gag. There were animal bones and carcasses all over the place, as well as feet upon feet of what looked like skin from a larger than life snake. With almost every step, Draco heard loud crunches. He did not want to know what he was stepping on. At least it was easy to follow Harry. Follow the sound of smashing bones. 

Draco was going to die.

Harry Potter was going to kill him.

“Come on,” Harry’s voice came from somewhere ahead of him. 

“I found a huge chamber!” came Myrtle’s voice.

Draco, figuring it was best to stick with the Chosen One rather than stand around on his own, hurried to catch up with the Insane One. Draco caught up with the Mentally Unbalanced One when he had stopped to study the snake skin. It was dried out and old, but the vidid green coloring was still evident.

It looked deadly. More deadly than the other skin Draco had seen. This one was newer. 

“It must be over twenty feet long,” Harry breathed. “It’s a snake. The monster must be some sort of snake.”

Instead of being terrified by this information, Harry sounded almost excited. 

Clearly, mental. Insane. Needed a healer STAT. 

“This way boys!” Myrtle called out. “You’re almost to the main chamber! It’s creepy!”

Like Harry, Myrtle was clearly was off her rocker. She had a good excuse, she couldn’t die. And this was more than likely the most fun she’d had. Ever.

Harry took off in the direction of Myrtle’s voice and Draco could do nothing but follow. They hurried around a bend and came to a solid wall with two entwined snakes. Harry walked up and raised his hand up to the carvings. He ran his fingers lightly over the serpents, his fingers lingering on the glittering emeralds used for eyes. 

They were the same shade as Harry’s eyes. 

“Wow.”

Draco stayed back. Myrtle came and floated next to Draco. Her excitement was almost palatable. Harry backed up, gulping a bit. 

“I feel something. It’s…strange, but I feel something.” Harry hissed suddenly and the serpents parted, creating two halves. “Cool.”

Myrtle let out a squeak and rushed through the opening after Harry, who hurried forward. Draco, the only sane person for miles, followed at a slower pace, his wand out in front of him. Lifting his wand over his head a bit, he found himself were in a very large chamber. Noticing there were sconces on the wall, he lit one which caused all the others to light up. 

The chamber was huge. Towering pillars of stone with more serpents carved rose to support the ceiling. They cast long, dark shadows making the odd green gloom filling the chamber worse. 

Maybe lighting them wasn’t such a good idea?

“There’s a chandelier up here,” Myrtle said. 

Draco looked up and saw the stone chandelier above his head. He pointed his wand and cast another lighting charm. The fire shot out of his wand. The chandelier (adorned with snakes) lit up, casting the entire chamber in warm greenish light. 

“How is the light green?” Harry asked. “You sent out normal fire.”

Draco shrugged. “This is Slytherin. He liked green.”

Harry took this as the reason for the green light. At least bathed in the warm green light the chamber looked a lot less creepy. Draco started down towards the other end, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Harry came to a rest at the base of what might have been a fountain. There was a large stone stature with hollow eye sockets. It was wrapped in various snakes, all which had emeralds for eyes. Draco knew who the statue ones: Salazar Slytherin. He’d know that monkeyish face anywhere. Harry walked to the very edge of the fountain where the huge statue was standing and placed his hands on the edge. 

“Wow. Is that Slytherin?”

“Yes,” Draco said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “Okay, you’ve seen this. Let’s go.”

“I think it’s behind the statue,” Harry said. 

Myrtle let out a squeal, suddenly appearing out of the statues eyes. “You’re right! It is!”

Draco let out a high pinched scream and lost control of his legs. He crashed to the ground. Myrtle paid him no heed. She zoomed off, vanishing into the stature again. 

“Draco?”

“That monster kills! The purpose of the monster is to cleanse the school of Muggleborns! Like Hermione! It’s not a nice monster!” 

Harry stared at Draco, shifting on his feet. “Nice monster?”

“Yes, like the ones Hagrid seems to fancy,” Draco said, his voice still higher than he wanted it to be. Harry looked a little confused, not knowing Hagrid well enough to know the half giant’s love of all things monster. Draco struggled to his feet. “Just because you can talk to snakes, doesn’t mean this one will listen to you. You’re not…well, you’re not the Heir of Slytherin.”

“How do you know? Slytherin could talk to snakes, I can talk to snakes. I was able to get down here,” Harry said. “What if I am? I could tell the snake not to attack Muggleborns.”

“But…but…but…”

“I think it’s a basilisk.” Myrtle announced, appearing. “Larger than usual, but it is a basilisk. I read about them before I died. There was a very handsome boy— he kind of looked like you.”

Myrtle cocked her head to the side, studying Harry who shifted uncomfortably.  Draco cleared his throat loudly. 

“Oh,” Myrtle jumped and shook her head. “The boy was doing all sorts of research on snakes for school. He seemed to be doing a report on basilisks. Anyways, it’s waking up. I think it feels Harry.”

“Oops,” was the brilliant thing Harry said.

Draco let out a strained noise which made him sound like a girl. “Oh, why can’t it be a bunny? Seriously, bunnies are nice, fluffy and cute. Why couldn’t Slytherin been able to talk to bunnies?”

“Bunnies are terrifying, what are you talking about?” Harry asked.

Draco stared at him blankly. “You’re telling me you’re afraid of bunnies? But not a death giving snake?”

“Bunnies are creepy,” Harry offered with a shudder. “They’ve got those twitchy, little noses and beady eyes. Sometimes the eyes are red. They are just…”

Harry shuddered again. 

“I’d cover your eyes,” Myrtle suggested.  

Draco did not need to be told twice. He covered his eyes so all he could see was the ground and hurried to one of the pillars to hide. He heard Harry behind him and heard something moving behind the stature. Sounds of stone grinding and moving sounded and Myrtle let out another sound of triumph as something slithered across the dusty floor. 

“It’s talking to me.”

“Answer it then!”

Harry began to hiss. Draco couldn’t hear anything hissing back, but Harry appeared to be having a conversation while Myrtle continued making excited noises as the snake slithered further into the chamber. 

“It’s safe to come out,” Harry said.

AND THEN WALKED OFF.

“ARE YOU INSANE?”

“It accepted me,” Harry simply replied. “I control it. I told it not to attack Muggleborns or anyone for that matter.”

Harry started hissing again and Myrtle sighed. “The snake covered its eyes. Bother.”

Draco peeked out to see a huge, ugly looking green snake curled up at the base of the fountain. It was bright green, clearly speaking to the world it was filled with life sucking poison. Gulping, Draco stayed where he was. 

“Draco, come here! Come here,” Harry said, sounding excited. 

“I think I’ll stay here.”

Harry made a noise and started hissing again. Draco sunk to the ground, putting his head in his hands. 

This might work in his favor. Harry controlled the snake. Draco wasn’t sure what exactly happened when the Chamber had been opened during his second year the first time around, but it was highly likely the snake Harry was currently having a conversation with was the culprit of the Petrified students. With the snake answering to Harry, there wouldn’t be any Petrified students next year. 

Peeking out from between his fingers, he watched Harry PET the snake as continued to hiss at it conversationally. After a moment, Draco edged around the pillar till he was on the side where he could see the snake fully. 

“She’s not going to hurt you,” Harry said, turn his attention to Draco. “She told me that Salazar Slytherin left her here to protect the school from people who wanted to cause harm to all students. It was only fifty year ago when the Heir told her to kill Muggles and Muggleborns. I told her that Muggleborns aren’t a danger to the school. Or Muggles. She was confused, but she’s agreed to do as I ask. She is hungry, though. It’s been over fifty years since she last ate. I wonder what she eats?”

“Wouldn’t she know what she ate?” Draco asked. 

Harry hissed a few more times and nodded. “She’d like meat. Can we get some?”

“Sure,” Draco said, throwing his arms up in the air. “I bet the House Elves in the kitchen will trip over themselves to give you some.”

Draco would give the snake five hundred pounds of meat if it meant them getting out of the Chamber alive. 

Harry continued to pet the snake, hissed a few more times and smiled. 

“Okay. Let’s go get Medusa some meat,” Harry said.

“You named it?”

“Of course. No one ever named her,” Harry said sadly. He hissed something else and the snake began to move back to where it came from. “I told her to go back to sleep till I come back.”

“You named it?” Draco faintly asked again.  

“Yes, Draco. How would you like to be called ‘hey you’ you’re whole life?” Harry said rolling his eyes. “She likes her name. Especially after I told her the meaning.”

Draco groaned.

“Let’s go. She said all I have to do is ask for stairs where we came down.”

“What else did the snake tell you?”

“That my link is stronger because I’m more magical than the last Heir,” Harry said. “She said, while I have a weak claim, my magical blood is more pure than the last one to wake her. Plus, I’m nice.”

Draco closed his eyes while he waited for Harry to reopen the chamber door to the corridor. 

Of course, Harry won over the snake by simply being nice. If only defeating the Dark Lord were so easy as simply being nice.


	26. Put Your Shields Up

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

“YOU WHAT?”

The entire Common Room turned to stare. Draco sank down in the overstuffed chair he was seated at in. Harry was in a similar position in the chair next to him. Hermione was in a right state after Harry told her what they’d gotten up to the night before. 

Draco told him not to tell her. 

True to his word, Harry had had Draco shown him the kitchens. The House Elves seemed a bit confused on what Harry wanted fifty pounds of raw meat, but due to their natures, they didn’t ask. They handed it over and Harry and Myrtle went down to visit Medusa to feed her(Draco had seen enough of the snake for an entire lifetime, thank you very much). Harry had returned jabbering on about this and that having to do with his new friend. Draco began to ponder maybe Harry had more in common with Hagrid than Draco originally thought. Draco had spent the night having nightmares about Medusa. He nearly died several times last night, but he kept waking up just in time.  

Harry assured Draco he only had to visit his new snake friend once a year during his duration at Hogwarts. She didn’t need to eat often, due to the fact she could hibernate for hundreds of years at a time, but she was lonely. 

That was something Harry could identify with.

Hermione, however, could not, thus the yelling. 

“Do you have any IDEA how dangerous basilisks are? They KILL PEOPLE!”

“Oh? They do? Harry, did you know that?” Draco mockingly asked.

Harry glared at him. “She’s harmless. And quiet down.”

Hermione looked livid.

“The potion is almost done and we need a plan,” Harry quickly offered, hoping to distract her. “From what I’ve heard, this Voldemort guy is kind of dangerous.” 

Hermione looked torn. She glared at Draco, looking disappointed Draco had failed to keep Harry in line. Draco rolled his eyes. He could not control the Insane One on his own. How Potter hadn’t died within five-seconds of entering Hogwarts the first time around was simply amazing. 

Draco pushed those thoughts aside and sat up properly in the chair.

“Harry is right. We need a plan. Let’s…go somewhere else.”

People were still staring at them, looking curious. Hermione was still standing stiff as a board in front of the two boys, her fists balled up tightly and her bushy hair looking even bushier. Hermione huffed, but gathered up her belongings. She began grumbling about studying for exams. Harry rolled his eyes, but heaved himself out of his chair. Draco led the pair to the seventh floor corridor where the Room of Requirement was located. After thinking of a safe place to talk and walking passed the spot three times, a simple door appeared.

“Oh,” Hermione gasped, anger suddenly forgotten. “How did you do that?”

“I’ll explain inside,” Draco said, looking around. He opened the door and waited for the pair to enter. 

Inside, the room took the appearance of a combination of the Gryffindor and Slytherin common room. There was a fire and three cozy chairs for each to sit in. One green, one blue and one red. The ceiling was glass and reflected the bottom of a lake, just like the Slytherin Common room, bathing the room in a soft green light. Harry sat in the red chair, looking around in wonder. Hermione took the blue chair. Draco eyed the green chair, wondering what the room was trying to tell him. 

“So, what is this room?”

“My creation. The room is called the Room of Requirement. It becomes what the person needs at the time. Need a bathroom, it’ll be a bathroom. Need a place to hide, it’ll become somewhere to hide. Need a safe place to talk about secrets, it’ll do that for you. I wanted somewhere the three of us could talk without behind overheard. This is what it gave me. If we needed a space to practice spells, it’d look different.”

“And no one can get in?” Harry asked.

“Not unless they know exactly what we’re doing,” Draco said. “It’s perfect to discuss our Quirrellmort plan.”

“Why didn’t you brew the potion in here?”

“Because it took too long to brew. Once you leave the room, the potion would keep the room we created for it active. And anyone could stumble upon it. You’d be amazed at the number of people come and go without knowing it. Trust me, it’s safer in the loo.” 

Hermione didn’t look convinced, but let it go. She pulled out a sheet of parchment and quill. She frowned, looking around. Suddenly, on the coffee table, a small portable writing desk appeared. 

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, picking up the writing desk. “This is brilliant.”

“So, we need a plan,” Harry announced loudly. 

“Clearly. The potion still has a ways to go as it’s still the wrong color. But not lime green.” 

“So, what should we do till the potion is done?”

“Come up with an attack plan,” Draco said. “I think it’ll be easer said than done to get that turban off and expose Voldy. We need to figure out how to get it off.” 

Hermione sighed deeply, quill scratching across the parchment. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I could use my broom. Snatching the turban off his head can’t be harder than catching a Snitch, right?”

Draco stared at Harry, trying to imagine him flying into a classroom without being seen. 

“Didn’t you get a cloak that makes you invisible?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded. “The broom could work then. You fly in under cover and take it off. If there’s indeed a face there, Draco and I will throw the potion at the face. If not, we’ll run for it.”

“We will need to make sure he’s alone,” Draco added quietly. “The potion might take ten minutes to work. I don’t fancy having Snake Face attacking students.”

Hermione nodded. “We’ll have to catch him alone. I will begin to keep track of his movements and see if he follows a pattern. Next point: we have the ten minutes it might take the potion to work before the spirit is expelled.”

“If we knew some spells,” Harry began to lament. “Quirrell hasn’t taught us anything to use to defend ourselves. His class is a totally pants.”

Draco mouthed the word pants, trying to figure out what Harry meant. 

“If he is possessed by Voldemort, then of course he doesn’t want you to be able to defend yourself,” Hermione snapped. She reached into her bag and pulled out a book. “This has a list of simple defensive charms. They won’t protect against really Dark magic, but they’ll help.”

“Shield spells,” Draco offered, going to stand over Hermione’s shoulder. “We need to be able to shield ourselves. We don’t need to fight him.” 

“Shield charms,” Hermione breathed. “Why didn’t I think of that? We don’t need to fight, just shield ourselves. You’re totally right.”

“Here. There are a few in here. Stand up. I’m going to think away the chairs.”

Harry leapt up and Hermione followed suit. The room understood what Draco wanted. Besides vanishing the chairs, the room got larger to give them more room. The trio practice for an hour and a half. Hermione managed to produce a weak shield (which was rather strong for a first year). Draco had produced a normal strength one. Harry had shocked them both when he produced a rather strong shield. It didn’t last very long, as he’d surprised himself and dropped his wand. At the end of the practice session, Harry was exhausted to the point he flopped on the floor and lay spread eagle. 

“We’ll need different types of shields,” Hermione insisted, eyeing Harry. Draco agreed. 

“To the library?” Harry asked, rolling over to his stomach. 

Hermione agreed quickly, grabbing her bag and hurrying out. Harry and Draco followed at a slower speed. 

“Why aren’t you tried?” Harry asked. “Hermione’s pretending she’s not tired, but after all the spells we cast, why aren’t you exhausted?”

“I wasn’t trying very hard,” Draco admitted. “You used up a lot of your strength when you produced that super shield. What did you do?”

“Cast the spell. Something…well, it felt natural and kind of burst out of me.”

Draco nodded. “We might have to put off using the potion till we can shield ourselves, though.”

“I agree. I don’t want to fight Voldemort. I’m eleven!”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, any spare moment they had was given to researching charms and spells to shield themselves from hexes and curses. Some of the spells were much too advanced for a first year, so those were tossed off right away by Harry. Hermione and Draco decided they’d try them out without Harry. Draco assumed they’d need to protect the Mentally-Unbalanced-One-Who-Was-Scared-of-Bunnies as he was apt to do something reckless and stupid to save the day. 

The weeks melted away and spring sprung. Quirrellmort went on stuttering and seemed more freaked out by his own shadow, Snape kept on belittling Harry at any turn and Fluffy continued to bark and growl when the door was knocked upon. 

One night in April, shortly after Easter break, Harry appeared in the Common Room and informed Draco Hagrid had a dragon egg, having met it that afternoon when he’d gone to see Hagrid. Harry could not understand why Hagrid thought it’d be a good idea to raise a dragon in a wooden house. Draco didn’t bother to point out that Hagrid’s love of dragon’s more than likely overrode any common sense the man possessed.  

Draco instantly stood up and requested the twins write their dragon loving brother because Hagrid had dragon egg in his possession and it needed to be dealt with. The twins, who were slightly grumpy Draco hadn’t pulled off his prank on Quirrellmort yet, didn’t act  till Harry showed up one morning at breakfast with a note that the dragon had hatched. Upon hearing this, the twins wrote a letter to their brother. 

Unlike last time, the dragon got off without a hitch. Nott clearly had not found out about the dragon, as no one ended up loosing a boat load of points or getting detention till the end of time the night the dragon was sent off to where ever the dragon loving Weasley was located. Involving the twins was a good idea. They knew their way around Hogwarts and had an uncanny skill for going undetected in their movements. 

One day in early May, Hermione and Harry produced a very strong shield charm and didn’t fall over afterwards. Or drop their wands.

“Did you see that?” Hermione asked, awe in her tone. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed. 

“We ready then?” Draco asked, his gut sinking. “The potion is nearing the right shade of blue. It’s finally not purple.” 

“Or lime green,” Hermione giggled. Draco rolled his eyes. 

“So. We got our plan set?” Harry asked.

Hermione sobered up right away. 

Draco nodded, gulping. So many things could go wrong with their plan. Hermione had written a detailed explanation of their plan, but Draco knew they’d not follow it at all, passed maybe using the plan to get the turban off. After throwing the potion on Voldemort, anything could happen.  

While Draco was nervous, scared and wanted to run away like a girl screaming, there was a feeling of satisfaction somewhere within him. He was doing something, he was fighting. Hopefully when they threw the potion at Quirrell’s head, Voldemort would leave and all their work on shield charms wouldn’t be needed. 

Oh, who was he kidding. It was Harry Potter. Of course they’d need the charms. 


	27. The Battle of Two Face

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it’s highly likely from _Philosopher’s Stone._**

* * *

Hermione informed the boys Quirrellmort tended to lock himself in his classroom and talk to himself on Friday afternoons. She had spent weeks trailing Quirrellmort. Draco had honestly thought the job would fall to Harry, Master of Stealth and Sneaking into Places He Ought Not Be. Hermione clearly had hidden her spy tendencies. 

“Seriously? The man has nothing better to do than talk to himself?” Harry had asked, looking a combination of baffled and joyful the afternoon they’d created their plan while sitting in the Room of Requirement. 

This was how the trio found themselves lurking in the empty hallway outside Quirrellmort’s office one lovely spring afternoon. Harry clutched his broom and Draco fingered the small wooden disk through his robes. The disks were crudely made, but hopefully they would work. Harry had gotten Hagrid to make them no questions asked after the Dragon Debacle. 

Hermione stood on her tip toes and peeked through the window on the un-warded door.

“He’s alone. No one else is in there. If he weren’t, well, Quirrell, I’d say he was getting ready to be an actor and practicing for an audition,” Hermione reported, lowering herself to her heels. “He even talks with a high pitch, mockingly cold voice.”

Draco’s insides froze. “Cold? High? Voice?”

“Yes.”

Draco pressed his ear to the door and could hear the voice. Something cold trickled down his spine to his feet. 

“It didn’t occur to you he was speaking to Voldemort?” Harry asked, looking at Hermione like he couldn’t believe her. 

“I thought you believed us,” Draco said.

She slapped her hand over her mouth, looking appalled. “We should tell a teacher.”

Harry and Draco looked at one another. 

“It won’t work. They won’t believe us. We are ready to move. Sneak attack,” Harry announced. “I’ve got my broom and—” 

“Potter! What are you doing?”

The three slowly turning around. Severus Snape was coming at them, his cloak billowing behind him. 

“Nothing. I was, er, just putting my broom away,” Harry lied. 

“Where, Potter? Where do you plan to put your broom away? You are rather far away from the Gryffindor Tower or the Quidditch Pitch. Potter, were you going to fly through the halls? Your father did that once,” Snape snarled, leaning down to get in Harry’s face. “It did not end well.”

“I wasn’t planning to fly through the halls,” Harry announced, looking livid. “I was putting my broom away after practice and Hermione and Draco wanted to show me something.”

“Where are your Quidditch Robes?”

“In the locker room.”

“Why did you leave them there?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Harry offered timidly. 

Snape reached out and grabbed the broom, tearing it out of Harry’s grasp. “I’ll just hold onto this till your next game.”

“But we need it!” Hermione shouted. 

“Why, Miss Granger, do all three of you need this broom?”

“Because we plan to unmask Voldemort,” Hermione announced.

Snape looked at her as if she were mental, his right eye twitching. 

“It’s true. We’re going to yank off his turban,” Draco offered. 

Harry, meanwhile, attempted to hide behind Draco. He looked mortified. 

Snape’s dark eyes darted between the three, his face a blank mask. He’d gotten control of his twitching eye rather quickly. Draco shifted a bit, but held his ground. Maybe Snape would believe them? 

“And why do you think the Dark Lord is in Quirrell’s turban?”

“It smells,” Hermione announced.

“It’s ugly,” Draco sneered.

“Harry’s scar hurts whenever Quirrell turns around.”

“Is this true, Potter?”

“Yes,” was the quiet almost squeaked answer. 

Without another word, Snape strode off down the hallway, whacking students out of his way with Harry’s broom. Draco, Hermione and Harry stared blankly after him, mouths open.

“Well, that puts a dent in the Master Plan,” Draco offered faintly. 

“He didn’t even take what we said seriously,” Hermione complained. 

“Maybe he did?” Draco suggested. “He didn’t sneer at us or call us dunderheads.”

Hermione and Harry didn’t respond. Harry moaned about the loss of his broom, while Hermione peeked into the classroom, where Quirrellmort was having his weekly conversation with himself. 

“He’s too tall,” Hermione moaned.  “Unless…”

She glanced between the boys. She swallowed heavily. 

“Desks. We’ll use the desks.”

* * *

Hermione was sure the stupidest thing she had ever done was suggesting what she was about to do. She should have run after Professor Snape and made him believe them. He had not looked like he believed them. He simply strode off with Harry’s broom. 

So, she hatched her mad plan and was now going through with it. Squaring her shoulders, she glanced the spot where Harry and Draco hid under the Invisibility Cloak. Not being able to see them, she had no way of knowing if they were ready. Until Draco gave a small cough.

_Hem. Hem._

She took that to be the cue. Shethrew the door open. 

It banged loudly.

Quirrell made a noise no grown man should make. 

Ignoring this, Hermione walked with her head high into the room. She glanced around the classroom, which reeked of garlic and something else she couldn’t place. Quirrell was standing in front of the classroom, his face pale. He straightened his turban, his eyes bloodshot and red rimmed. His eyes darted all over the place. 

“Oh. Mi-mi-miss Gangr-gr-green,” he stuttered out at her. “Wha-wha-what ca-a-an I do for y-y-you?”

“I have several questions on yesterday’s lecture, Professor,” Hermione ignoring the fact he had gotten her name wrong.

She strode to one of the desks near the front of the room. She waited a moment for Quirrell to move towards her, but he didn’t. He remained hiding behind his own desk. Hermione threw her school bag onto the desk and began to sort through her own collection of parchment. Her hands were shaking and she was more nervous than she had ever been in her whole life. But, she could be brave, just like those Gryffindors. The Hat had wanted to put her in Gryffindor, but she had chosen Ravenclaw to grow her wisdom and mind.

She was currently doubting her wisdom. No one wise would have agreed to this plan. No one wise would have made this plan. 

She was as mad as Harry. 

“I’m having trouble finding my notes, sir, I’m sorry,” she apologized. 

She was getting flustered so the next part would be easier. She needed to make a lot of noise to distract Quirrell for when Draco and Harry got onto the desk. She hoped even after she made all the noise, Quirrell would remain where he was, so the boys could get to him. He hadn’t moved since she entered. As long as he stayed there, Draco could grab the turban, Harry could throw the potion easily at the back of his head. 

Hermione would hide. 

Hermione let out a noise of frustration and managed to knock the desk over when something got stuck in her bag. 

“OH!” she cried, falling to her knees to pick up everything that went flying out of her bag. 

Everything happened at once. 

Her bag spilled all over the floor, ink pots rolling every direction, parchment flitting down to the floor, quills spilling, clattering on the ground. Falling to her knees she began to gather these things, all the while slipping her wand into her hand. 

“Wh—”

Quirrell never finished speaking. She heard a noise that sounded like a high pitched screech and Harry shouted something that vaguely sounded like “vatican cameos!” Draco fell to the ground with a loud crash.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” a voice she’d never heard before roared. “Ah, Harry Potter.”

Hermione scrambled away from her bag, looking for somewhere to hide. 

“What did you throw on me?”

“Smelly water,” Harry answered.

“Master, master, I’m sorry!” Quirrell pleaded. 

“Quite,” hissed the other voice. “Why did you shout ‘vatican cameos?’”

“First thing that popped into my head.”

“Are you serious?” the high voice asked.

Hermione knocked a desk over on its side and used it as a shield, clutching her wand in her hand. She peeked out above it to find Quirrell facing away from Harry. Harry was still standing on the teacher’s desk in the front of the room, the empty potion vial in his hand. He looked disgusted and a little pale, yet utterly calm. 

“Well, I thought about shouting ‘For Narnia,’ but that didn’t come out,” Harry said, keeping his verdant eyes on the back of Quirrell’s head. 

Hermione searched for Draco. He was propped up on his elbows, turban still in his hand and his face filled with a combination of fright and amusement. Hermione understood the amusement, but the fright she could not really understand. Draco had faced a basilisk, he’d made the complicated potion and had taught them shield spells, but he was frightened of the speaking spirit. 

Hermione did not really believe it was Voldemort in the back of Quirrell’s head. She did believe he might be possessed by something evil, but the Darkest wizard of their time? 

No.

“Harry Potter,” the other voice breathed. “What have you done?”

The voice now sounded outraged. Harry looked a bit frightened suddenly, yet he still did not move. He planted he feet firmly on the desk top and braced himself for an attack, wand out in front of him. 

“I threw smelly water on you,” Harry reminded him, his voice cracking a little at the end. His face went white, but his eyes remained locked on whatever was in the back of Quirrell’s head.

“What has he done Master?” Quirrell anxiously asked. “Please tell me!”

“I need more unicorn blood. Now!” 

Quirrell started to move forward. Without thinking, Hermione did something ludicrous. She used her wand to shut and lock the door. 

Her eyes went wide as she heard Quirrell and the spirit roar with outrage. 

She just locked herself and her two best friends into a room with a man possessed by— 

Getting her first look at what was in the back of Quirrell’s head made Hermione ill. She would have screamed, but she found she was unable to make a sound. The look on the face in the back of Quirrell’s head was murderous. Most of where the back of Quirrell’s head ought to have been was a face. It was the ugliest, most terrible face Hermione had ever witnessed. It was chalk white, with ruby red eyes and no nose. There were slits where the nostrils should have been.

Snake Face. Just like Draco had called Lord Voldemort from time to time.

She gasped.

“The other one,” the face breathed. “Kill her.”

Hermione scrambled to move before Quirrell could turn around. She dragged the desk between herself and Quirrell in time to block the jet of green light that came flying at her. Harry bellowed in outrage. He shot out a spell and something exploded. She crawled across the floor to find another desk to hide behind. 

“ _Protego, Occulovisio, Fianto Duri,”_ Draco shouted in quick concession. 

Hermione felt a shield form around her like a bubble. Debris flew towards her and bounced off the shield. She heard Harry shouting what sounded like random words, Draco shooting spells and the Snake Face monster shouting insults and orders, his most common, “Don’t Kill Potter!” 

Hadn’t ten minutes passed by now? Something must have gone wrong with the potion. 

Silence suddenly fell in the classroom. Hermione didn’t dare peek out and see what was going on. She huddled closer to the fallen desk. 

“Ah, Harry Potter. We meet again at the end of a wand,” the high, cold voice breathed. “Who did you bring with you today? I believe that must be a Malfoy there. Ah, yes, it’s a Gryffindor Malfoy. How…strange.” 

Harry did not reply, nor did Draco. 

“Where is the other? The girl?”

“I-I-I don’t know, Master. She is gone.”

“No matter. See what you’ve made me become, Harry? A mere shadow of myself, a vapor. Forced to share another body….always have to rely on someone,” the cold, high voice spat out. 

Hermione remained where she was, amazed no one could see her. She couldn’t be _that_ well hidden. She peeked out from behind the overturned desk to see Draco was unconscious on the floor, blood trickling down from somewhere in his hairline. Harry was stuck to the blackboard, unable to move. He wore a murderous expression on his face, green eyes narrowed in hostility. 

“Unicorn blood has strengthened me in these past months, but once I have the Elixir of Life, I’ll be able to create a new body. It will be powerful, strong, fierce and unbeatable. Won’t that be wonderful, Potter? Now, I think I will take you with me while we go get the Stone.”

“Master?”

“Yes, I believe we will need the boy. Bring him.”

“NO!”

“There is no need for you to die, Harry. I do value bravery. I would expect no less from you. Your parents were very brave. I killed your father first, but he put up a good fight, very courageous. Your mother needn’t have died, she was trying to protect you. If you fail to come with me, you’ll meet the same end as your parents. We cannot have that, now, can we?”

“NO!” Harry shouted again. “I’ll never join you. You’re evil. You’re a murder!”

“I am not evil, Harry. There is no such thing as good or evil, just power. The world is divided into those who are weak to seek power and the powerful, Harry. Not bad or good, dark or light.”

Harry didn’t reply. 

“Grab the boy. All this noise will alert Dumbledore. We must move quickly.”  

Quirrell turned back to face Harry and reached forward. Oh, why hadn’t a teacher heard them yet? Hermione thought hard, trying to remember any spell to shoot at him. All she could remember was the levitation spell. 

A desk!

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” she cried, levitating a desk and throwing it at Quirrell. 

The desk smashed into the Snake Face, which hissed loudly. It also caused Quirrell to smash into the blackboard and Harry, who he had been reaching for. Quirrell cried out in pain at the same time Harry did. 

Scrambling to re-hide herself, Hermione inched closer to where Draco was lying. She cried the same spell again and levitated the teacher’s desk towards her as she darted for Draco. She slammed the desk to the ground as she reached Draco at the same time Harry leaped to his feet, a look on his face that told her he was about to do something really stupid.  

“Oh, don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” she muttered, fumbling around for a pulse on Draco’s neck. She found one quickly. It was strong. She brushed his hair back and noticed he had a nasty gash on his head, right at his hairline. She didn’t know any healing spells she felt safe to use on Draco, so she tore her robe and pressed it to the deep gash. 

“Master it hurts! I cannot hold him!” Quirrell was screaming. 

“Sieze him! Sieze him!”

“My hands, master!”

“Then KILL HIM!”

Hermione whirled around and stood up without a second thought. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus!”_ Hermione cried. 

The spell shot out of her wand and hit Quirrell at the same time Harry leapt at the man. The pair fell to the ground while Harry screamed, holding onto the man’s face with both hands. Hermione gasp when she saw what Harry was doing. She could smell the burning flesh. Quirrell’s face was blistering. His hands were already blistered. Harry, though, was not going undamaged. His hands were blistered just as much. 

“Harry! Stop!”

She vaulted over the desk and dragged Harry off Quirrell as his body broke her spell. She held onto Harry tightly, wondering what the man was going to do, but all that happened was he cried out in pain, raising his hands to his head. At the same time, there was a roar from somewhere behind Quirrell.

“It’s working! Down!” Hermione shouted, pulling Harry down to the ground. 

There was a loud crash and bang. Quirrell was still screaming and the Snake Face was hissing in outrage as he was pushed out of Quirrell’s body. Hermione looked up through her hair and saw a mist rise up out of Quirrell’s body. The mist rose up, taking the form of a large snake. It was pale white, with red eyes and slithered out of the back of Quirrell’s head, while Quirrell went very pale. Hermione wasn’t sure if the man was screaming or not— no sound was reaching her ears. 

She squeezed Harry’s hand very hard as the door burst open and Snape, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall rushed in. Hermione took little notice of them as Dumbledore wove his wand, sending a shield at Harry and Hermione as the vaporous snake-like being shot towards them. It hissed angrily, then flew out the window. 

“Harry, would it be so bad if I fainted?” Hermione asked, barely hearing herself speak. 

“No.”

She fainted. 


	28. Meanwhile in London...

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

Narcissa sat at a table in an ornate room, looking around slyly. She was in a posh hotel in Muggle London. She carefully picked up the delicate china tea cup and delicately sipped. She set it back down, glancing around the hushed room taking high tea. She was not sure why Altair Black had suggested Fordham and Mason as a spot to meet for tea, but she knew better to argue when she was asking for something. 

She spotted the man as soon as he entered the room. It was hard not to notice him. He was a Black. He had the raven hair, wavy and shining with health. Altair’s raven hair was shot through with grey, but it added to his beauty. He had the chiseled features the Blacks were know for, yet they had been softened from his mixing with other pureblood American families. The thing that really drew eyes to the tall man was his power. It radiated off of him to the point even Muggles took note. Heads turned as Altair stood in the entrance, looking for Narcissa. He smiled as he spotted Narcissa. He politely spoke to the waitress who was standing near the door and walked with purpose towards Narcissa.

“Narcissa, how wonderful to see you again. How are you?” he greeted in a deep voice. He had a crystal clear American accent, free from any regional dialect. 

“I’m wonderful, Altair,” Naricissa greeted, standing to kiss him on both cheeks in the Muggle European manner. 

One thing Narcissa had learned from her study of pureblood Americans, they knew the customs of the Muggle upper class in order to blend in perfectly at high end places of business. While she did not strictly approve how Muggle and wizard society were intertwined in America, she would deal with it till she convinced Altair to move the Black family back to Britain. 

She was very close. It had taken months upon months, but she was sure Altair was going to move to Britain and take up the mantle of Head of the Black family in Britain. Altair’s son, Sirius Dreolan, was old enough and trained to take the reins in America easily. In time, the two sides of the family could be combined. Then, the Black family would be unstoppable. 

Narcissa knew Altair was favorable to this idea. The first step: Atlanta’s attendance at Hogwarts. It gave Altair an excuse to be involved in Britain, to take interest in current affairs. 

The pair made idle chit chat for the first hour of their tea, till Altair brought up the subject of Hogwarts. 

“How does your son like Hogwarts? He’s in his first year, correct?”

“He is. He adores it,” Narcissa replied, smiling. “He’s friends with Harry Potter.”

Altair dropped his knife he’d been using to butter a scone. “Harry Potter? The one who…”

“Yes. They are the best of friends. Didn’t Atlanta tell you? I thought she wrote to him,” Narcissa casually dropped. 

Altair looked flabbergasted for a moment before he recovered. “No, she failed to mention that. Her mother has been suggesting we enroll her in Hogwarts for next year.”

He frowned at this mention. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. Evidently Lupin suggested it,” he said, unable to keep the dislike for his daughter’s tutor out of his voice. He quickly shook himself. “Circe said the child is very different than her siblings and would enjoy school abroad. And she’s such great friends with Draco.”

“They are. They practically grew up together.”

Altair picked up his knife and went back to buttering his scone. 

“I’ll need to speak with the Headmaster. He’s a…strange man,” Altair said, choosing his words carefully.

Narcissa picked up her tea and sipped. “He is a little strange, but he’s well respected. Very well powerful. His approval and words have great weight on society.”

Altair nodded again, thoughtfully taking a bite of his scone. 

“I’ll need to meet with the Headmaster within the next few days,” Altair said. “I’m only in England till Friday. Then I must go back. Pressing matter at the Department of Magic is up for an important vote in the coming days. Legislation on werewolves rights.”

Narcissa nodded. “I’m sure.”

It was a well known fact his wife ran a sanctuary for werewolves and was one of the leading experts on the development of potions to aid werewolves through their transformations. 

Altair despised werewolves. It was not a well known fact, though. He hid his animosity well, except from Narcissa who saw straight through him. 

“I’ll need to be there to oversee the passage,” he offered.

Narcissa knew he meant to silently block it from behind the scenes so whatever it was wouldn’t pass. Since Narcissa made it her business to know everything, she knew Altair was the driving force in getting his youngest sister disinherited after she’d been bitten by a werewolf when she was eighteen. 

“I’ll write to Dumbledore once I arrive home asking him to meet with you,” Narcissa said. “I’m sure he’ll make time for you before you leave. He seemed open to accepting Atlanta as a student when I wrote to him in the fall.”

She sent Altair a pleasant smile. 

“Well, as long as the educational standards are up to snuff, I do not see why Atlanta cannot attend Hogwarts,” Altair said. He set the scone down, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “She talks about the school all the time. I’m sure she’s memorized _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“Such a good book,” Narcissa assured. 

Altair made a soft hum of agreement. Narcissa knew the look on his face. She’d seen it quite a few times on various people during her lifetime and it told her she’d won. The person she’d been manipulating was none the wiser, thinking he or she had actually won. 

As they said their farewells to one another, Narcissa could not help but be excited for the coming school year. Atlanta would be at Hogwarts. This meant the Blacks were coming back to power in Britain. Her family and her family name would be saved. 

Now, if she could get rid of Lucius’ foolish ideals. Narcissa knew one day the Dark Lord would rise again and Lucius would once again by at the psychopath’s side. As she watched Altair’s head vanished into the crowed Muggle street, she knew pinning her hopes on the Blacks was the smartest thing since she had opened her heart to Harry Potter. 


	29. Time Traveler Revealed

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

Draco’s head hurt. He’d woken up feeling like this once before, only he was unable to breathe due to a small person who thought it was a good idea to sit on his chest to wish him a happy birthday. He could breath at the moment. Sucking in air through his nose, he determined he was in a bed somewhere that smelled sterile. 

He cracked one eyelid open. 

Hospital Wing. 

Well, at least he wasn’t dead. 

Opening the other eye, Draco pulled himself into a seated position. He raised his hand slowly and felt the throbbing area of his head. It was covered in a thick bandage. He was about to call out for Madam Pomfrey, but the woman bustled out of her office before Draco opened his mouth the whole way. 

“Ah, you’re awake! Good,” she said, setting a few things down on the table next to his bed.

“What happened?”

“You children were rather thoughtless,” she chided. “Thinking you could take on…a possessed soul like that.”

She shook her head in disgust. 

“Oh. Did it work?”

She huffed and shoved a spoonful of something into his mouth. He swallowed the bitter potion, cringing as he swallowed.

“You hit your head and had a very deep gash. You lost a lot of blood before Miss Granger reached you,” Madam Pomfrey informed him. “Here. Blood Replenishing Potion. You’ll need this one more time.” 

Draco took the cup and downed it. He handed her the empty cup. 

“Did it work? Did we get rid of the, er, spirit?”

Madam Pomfrey glared at Draco. 

“Yes, we did,” came a voice from the next bed. 

Draco turned his head slowly to find Harry, whose hands were wrapped up so it looked like he had two white mallets for hands, in the bed next to him. 

“What did you do to your hands?”

Harry looked down at his hands while Madam Pomfrey huffed again. She turned and stalked off, muttering about boys who love danger. 

“Turns out Voldemort can’t touch me,” Harry said. “It causes him great pain.”

“Do you know why?”

“Well, Dumbledore thinks that it might be from what happened the night he tried to kill me,” Harry said quietly. “My mother died to save me. She loved me and it leaves a mark if you die for someone you love unconditionally. I guess it gave me protection…in my skin. I’m marked with something good and pure, and Quirrell and Voldemort, well, they’re not so good. So it hurts them.” 

Draco gaped at Harry, unsure what to say in response to that. 

“Voldemort only kill Mum because she refused to move.”

“How do you know?”

“He said so,” Harry admitted. 

The boys fell quiet for a moment. 

“So, did we expel him?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Just before Snape and Dumbledore showed up. Quirrell warded the room at some point and they couldn’t get to us. Hermione fainted. Other than that, she was okay. They sent her to bed.”

“Quirrell was sent to, er, the wizarding hospital?”

“St. Mungo’s?”

“Yeah. Voldemort left him pretty…brain damaged. I guess the potion didn’t work as it should have because Voldemort isn’t exactly a spirit. That’s why it took so long. Dumbledore didn’t know what Voldemort is at the moment,” Harry went on in a flat tone. 

“Hermione’s really unharmed?”

“Oh, yeah. Madam Pomfrey said she just needs to sleep.”

Draco nodded, sinking into his pillows. 

“Oh, Dumbledore also said he was destroying the stone. Just in case. I guess his friend has enough of the life potion to put his affairs in order. He said death to the well organized mind was just another great adventure.”

Draco snorted. “Of course.”

The boys were silent for a minute before Harry added, “Dumbledore gave me the Cloak.”

He waved a mallet hand over at the table on the other side of Draco. He glanced over and noticed the shimmery folds of the Cloak.

“He did?”

“Yeah. My dad left it with him before he died, so Dumbledore gave it back to me. He told me again to use it well.” Harry was quiet for a moment. “I can’t believe you were right all along. I still honestly did not believe to find Voldemort under that turban till you yanked it off.”

“Thanks. I’ll be wrong next time I think Voldemort is lurking under a hat,” Draco dryly joked. 

“How did you even guess? Sometimes I get this feeling that you know so much more than you’re letting on,” Harry said, sounding oddly frustrated. 

Draco shifted on the bed and looked away from Harry. He wanted to tell Harry, but he wasn’t sure how to word it exactly. He doubted Harry would even believe him if he told him the truth. 

Draco would be crowned the Insane One. 

“Are you a fortune teller?”

“What?” Draco asked, turning his head back towards Harry. 

Harry colored a bit, but smiled a little. “You said ‘what’ instead of excuse me.”

Draco groaned, holding his head. “Sorry. Excuse me?”

Still snickering, Harry went on with what he wanted to ask Draco. “I told Dumbledore about, well, you’re uncanny knack for knowing weird things,” Harry said. He looked somewhat uncomfortable. 

“Did he say something cryptic that you didn’t understand?”

“Yeah. He said something about you being cursed with knowledge of a future lived once before or something. He said something about you wearing a heavy crown and I ought to give you the benefit of the doubt. I mean, isn’t there a branch of magic where you can see into the future or something?”

“Yes. Divination,” Draco replied. “I am not sure what you are trying to tell me.”

“Can you see the future? Do you know the future?”

It would be so easy to tell Harry he could. Draco was from a future that no longer existed. Yet, he didn’t know exactly what was going to happen. He was busy rewriting time. 

“Dumbledore also told me that time can be rewritten,” Harry went on not waiting for Draco to answer. “Are you a time traveler?”

“Yes. I am.”

Harry looked doubtful. Time dragged by slowly. Harry suddenly began to laugh. Loud bursts of laughter rang through the mostly empty Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey hurried out asking if Harry had lost his mind. She shoved something at Harry and forced it down his throat. In a matter of moments he calmed down and was asleep. She turned to Draco.

“I’d give you some, but because you suffered a concussion, now that you’re awake, you are going to need to remain awake for a few hours before it is safe for you to sleep,” she informed him. She stared at Draco almost daring him to disagree. He nodded his agreement. She scoffed, “Time traveler. You’d think he was the one who hit his head.”

Muttering about time travel, she stalked back to her office. Draco sunk back into his pillows and stared at the darkening ceiling. He’d admitted the truth to Harry and Harry thought it was a joke. Well, if that was how he was going to take it, fine. Folding his arms across his chest, Draco settled in for the next few hours of wakefulness. 

He had to plot out how to survive his second year now that they’d solved the issue of Quirrellmort. 

Draco smirked. They’d gotten rid of the threat before exams. And before the last Quidditch game. If Harry’s hands were healed, Gyffindor was bound to win this time around and not be steamrolled by Ravenclaw. Draco glanced at Harry again, still smirking. He turned his head back to the ceiling and went back to plotting. 

He had to get the diary. The diary was in his house, only he did not know where. Harry already had control of the snake, but if they got the diary before it got into the hands of Ginny Weasley, then the snake would be no bother. If the snake wasn’t lying to Harry… 

Draco doubted it’d lie, though. There was no reason for the snake to lie. Harry was feeding it and was it’s new best friend. 

Draco sighed. Next year better be quieter. 

* * *

_A/N: 6 July 2013 - Here ends the first year. Thank you for reading, the kudos, subscriptions and the reviews (the good, the bad, and the ones with edits missed by me)! There is a next installment to this sereies, History Keeps Pulling, which I'll be posting in the coming weeks as I finish editing it. Thanks for reading again!_

 


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